


Because That's What Parents Do!

by rosytonics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Kid Fic, Loki and Hela are the worst siblings ever but Thor loves them anyway, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pediatrician Bruce, Pregnancy, Professor Thor, Romantic Comedy, Sibling Bonding, Slow Burn, Trans Male Author, Trans Male Character, mlm author, not "mpreg", trans fatherhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-05-24 09:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosytonics/pseuds/rosytonics
Summary: Any time someone tells him that he can’t--or even that he simply shouldn’t--he does. Tell him he can’t shotgun three beers in a row? Fuck you, he’ll shotgun four just to show you he can. Tell him it’s not reasonable to get a liberal arts degree? Fine. He’ll get two liberal arts degrees, and then two liberal arts masters and then two liberal arts doctorates and land a prestigious teaching position all before he’s thirty. Tell him that he can’t raise a child on his own? Just fucking watch him.[Or, the one where frazzled college professor Thor Odinson is determined to have a big, happy family of his own, singleness be damned!]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (ノ 'ヮ `) ノ *: · ゚ greetings! and welcome! 
> 
> this fic has been stuck in my head for months, and i finally decided to take the plunge and post the first chapter just in time for father's day! father's day is all about celebrating dads of all kinds, and as a trans guy i've been really excited to see trans dads starting to come forward and talk about their experiences! everything about trans fatherhood in this fic has come directly from posts and articles written by real trans fathers. 
> 
> most importantly, it's gonna be a goofy romcom with cute kids! 
> 
> special thanks to the thorbruce groupchat and my pals on tumblr for being so supportive and helpful as i worked to get this au put together! 
> 
> i'm so very excited to share this fic with everyone!! please don't hesitate to leave me your thoughts!! 
> 
> ☆ tumblr: @bussythor

“I can’t believe you eat the sesame ones,” Hela announces as she reaches across the table for the bagel on Thor’s plate. She grabs it and takes a sizable bite, wrinkling her nose. “Just butter? Seriously? Pathetic.” 

 

“You have your own house, you know,” Thor reminds her dryly as he takes a sip of his coffee, “With your own bagels--and you can put anything you want on them instead of eating mine.” He sighs and scrolls up and down aimlessly along his tablet, struggling to find a face in the collection that jumps out at him. They all look more or less the same--good, but the same. 

 

Hela takes another bite of the bagel that she doesn’t even want--simply because she doesn’t want her little brother to have it--and puts her feet up on his kitchen table. She frowns as she reaches behind her, brushing her long, dark hair behind her shoulders and smooths it down. “This is a reckless way to spend your inheritance money, you know.” She gestures broadly to the papers strewn across the table. 

 

Thor lifts an eyebrow at her. “ _ I’m  _ reckless?” he asks, leaning back and crossing his arms, “Our parents died and you bought  _ wolves _ . A  _ pack  _ of wolves. That live in your backyard.”

 

She scoffs, in that way she does that makes him feel small enough to be squished under her boot. “I couldn’t separate them, they’re social animals”--

 

“Unlike you,” Thor counters. 

 

Hela lifts up one of the pamphlets on the table and gives it a disdainful look before tossing it back down. “And anyway, what’s the point of being an orphan if you don’t use your dead parents’ money to make  _ good  _ investments?” 

 

Thor’s eyes travel to one of the many pamphlets laying around. On the cover, a cartoon of a smiling double helix models a pair of jeans; above it, a colorful speech bubble reads  **_GENE SHOPPING: HOW TO PICK THE PERFECT DONOR_ ** . It’s amusing. He looks back to his sister challengingly. “Wolves are a better investment than having a child?” 

 

Hela’s stare is hard enough to break a diamond. “Yes.”

 

“I mean…” Loki shrugs from his spot on the kitchen counter. “Wolves will never have student debt, and”--

 

“You used your inheritance to buy knives,” Thor counters, “So I don’t know why you’re even trying to take part in this conversation.” 

 

Hela sighs wistfully, but frostily, leaning back in her chair. “How are you not the adopted one?” 

 

Loki hops off the counter, nursing his mug of coffee as he all but slithers around the kitchen table until he’s standing behind Thor, looking over his shoulder at his tablet. “Are you looking for donors?” 

 

“Yeah.” Thor sighs in frustration. “The pamphlet said to find someone I  _ want  _ the donor to look like, and said I should look at famous people, but they all look the same.” 

 

Loki plucks the tablet off the table. “You’re an idiot,” he reminds Thor, like he didn’t just tell him that less than an hour ago, scrolling down the list, “And you’ve always been shit at picking a man.” Thor doesn’t even have time to make a defensive remark, because Loki is already shoving the tablet in front of his face. “There. You’re welcome.” 

 

“Uh…” Thor gives his brother a scrutinizing look. The image on the screen looks too familiar for him to make sense of it, or feel comfortable with it. “Who is this?” 

 

Loki scoffs. “What do you mean,  _ who is this _ ? Are you blind, or just stupid? That’s Jeff Goldblum.” 

 

“Right…” Thor hands him the tablet again with a frown. “He looks eerily like your ‘boyfriend’”--A subjective term at this point-- “Who probably already has hundreds—if not thousands—of illegitimate children all over the globe already.” 

 

Loki scowls at him. “Come on--he’s not  _ that  _ bad.” 

 

Oh, he’s not bad at all. He’s  _ intolerable _ . 

 

Thor scoffs as nicely as he can, because, after all, he’s the nice sibling. One of them fucking has to be. “One time he told me he was five million years old, and that he’d met God and told him to “invent the clitoris”.” 

 

Hela snorts out a short laugh into her coffee mug. “And yet he can never find it, apparently. Tragic.”    
  


Loki quickly grows  lobster red, and looks like he’s about to throw one of the tantrums that made him famous in elementary school. “That’s not…! He’s not…! Ugh!” Hela and Thor roar with laughter as Loki storms out of the kitchen with a flourish, probably go off and sulk somewhere. 

 

Thor has made peace with the fact that he has the worst siblings in human history, and that they’re stuck with each other. He gives Hela a cheeky grin. She kicks him from under the table. 

  
  


…

 

“I need a  _ psychic’s  _ help,” Thor whines, dragging hand down his face. It’s been two weeks, and the donor question has yet to be resolved. “None of these  _ feel  _ right! It’s a good list, I mean, of course it’s a good list—they’re all  _ gorgeous _ , but I can’t figure out why I’m not...I need metaphysical assistance.” 

 

“I’m not a psychic,” Heimdall reminds him dryly as he looks over the list of celebrities that Thor and his disaster siblings have composed, “I’m a meteorologist.” 

 

Thor sighs and leans his head back against the back of the leather chair. “But when have you ever been  _ wrong _ , Heimdall?” He nearly misses his friend’s barely-there smile. 

 

“I haven’t.” 

 

The two of them sit in cozy silence in their favorite Starbucks corner—the one on the second floor that everyone forgets about, tucked against the window. Thor picks his drink up off the table—a mocha frappuccino, complete with chocolate chips. Probably the last one he’ll drink for almost a year. He’s got to treat himself now—but he knows it won’t make not being able to have caffeine for nine months suck any less.

 

“I can’t predict the future,” Heimdall reminds his friend, taking a sip of his venti blonde roast. Heimdall has his shit together. He’s  _ always _ had his shit together, having the brain of a functional adult even as a child, always mediating arguments and getting his friends out of trouble. Unlike the rest of them, he could “see” the consequences at an early age, and had an uncanny skill for evaluating the repercussions of even the most mundane of choices. He has a keen and logical understanding of how the world works, but also chooses his actions to be those that would make a difference to it. “But I  _ can  _ tell you not to go with any of these choices. And to stop drinking that so quickly—you’ll give yourself another brain freeze.” 

 

Thor looks down at his coffee, already starting to feel a chilly tightness in the front of his head. “Really? Why?” The list, objectively, looks pretty good. Loki and Hela are convinced that he’s either too picky or has bad taste, or both. Probably both. 

 

“Because it’s not yours,” Heimdall replies easily. He takes another sip of his coffee before continuing. “This is a list of people who are objectively attractive, and someone who looks like any of them would make a handsome child with you.” It’s a weird conversation to have—but not their weirdest by far. But Heimdall treats it just like he’s analyzing weather patterns. “But the fact that you’re coming to me for help because none of them feel right means that you shouldn’t go with anyone on this list.” His eyes, warm and golden brown, meet Thor’s with loving earnesty. “You’ll find the right face. And when you do, you will know. It’ll feel like the stars have shifted into place.” 

 

Out of Thor’s friends, Heimdall is the best at giving blunt and accurate advice—but does he have to be so  _ cryptic  _ about it? 

 

Thor sighs and takes another sip of his frap. “But how do I  _ find  _ him?” He’s been searching like crazy— _ hunting  _ for the perfect donor lookalike, and he’s running out of options. Maybe his brother and sister are right...maybe he’s being too picky. Maybe the fact that he hasn’t found the perfect donor father means that this isn’t meant to be…

 

“You won’t,” Heimdall replies simply, smiling when Thor gives him a panicked stare, “He’ll find you.” He reaches across the rustic table between them and sets a firm, warm hand on Thor’s knee. He doesn’t give out touches often, only when he knows it will have the greatest impact. And it does. Thor all but melts. “You’re going to be a great father. Don’t doubt that for a second.” 

 

Taking his friend’s hand and giving it a squeeze, Thor smiles tiredly. It’s already been a difficult journey, and he’s still barely started. Negotiating with work to take a year off, while still teaching online courses. Slowly weaning off of his testosterone shots, feeling his body shift in the smallest of ways. Convincing his doctor over and over again that this is what he wants, that he can mentally handle it—and sometimes, in moments of panic and self-doubt, wondering if he really can. Finding a fertility agency willing to work with him, and enduring all sorts of invasive and uncomfortable tests to make sure he would even be able to become a parent this way. Swapping out testosterone for luteinizing hormones and going through a whole new adjustment period. Doing mock IVF cycle after mock IVF cycle to make sure he could even handle the _ thought  _ of having a child. Giving all these tests to at least ten cryobanks, and getting rejected by all but one. 

 

And now he’s faced with the most difficult decision of all—choosing a total stranger to make up half of his child. He could always ask someone he knows, and he’s still sure that any one of his friends would jump at the opportunity. His friends are great, they’re wonderful, and when they have children of their own, those children will be great and wonderful too. But there’s something that squicks Thor out a little bit about having a baby with one of his friends. It seems like it would be even more complicated than finding a donor! 

 

And to think...some people are able to get pregnant completely by accident, and some of them don’t even _ want  _ to be! And yet he  _ wants  _ a child more than he’s ever wanted anything, and he has to do all this fucking  _ work _ ! 

 

“Everything will fall into place,” Heimdall reminds him again, and of course Thor knows that he’s right, because he’s always right, because he knows  _ everything _ . “And don’t pick Jeff Goldblum.” 

 

Thor wrinkles his nose. “Wasn’t planning on it.” 

 

…

 

“Do you think I’m.. _ picky _ ?” Thor asks, hanging upside down on his couch. He looks over to Voltstagg, hanging beside him with his hands folded. “Be honest.” 

 

Volstagg shrugs. “Never without a good reason.” Volstagg is anything but picky. If it’s edible, he’ll eat it. If it can get him drunk, he’ll drink it. If it’s friendly, he’ll befriend it. He makes decisions easily, and rolls with the consequences as they come. But even  _ he’s  _ been taking this choice seriously. 

 

“And you have an incredibly good reason to be picky,” adds Fandral, looking down at them from his seat on the arm of the sofa, “This isn’t a decision that you should take lightly.” 

 

Hogun, who hardly speaks unless he has something philosophically profound to say, nods and sits back against the coffee table, continuing to flip through the channels until they find something they can all agree on. 

 

“I  _ know  _ that…” Thor swings his legs over and pushes himself back upright. He pulls his feet underneath him and sits with his legs criss-crossed. He thought that  _ maybe  _ being upside down would make him think a little clearer, but all it did was give him red cheeks and make him dizzy. “But I also feel like I’m running out of time.” 

 

“Worrying about it will only make it harder.” Sif balances the bowl of popcorn against her hip as she carries it out of the kitchen. She sets it down on the table and gives Thor’s shoulder a squeeze. “What do you always do when you can’t find your keys?” 

 

“Or your coffee?” adds Fandral, nodding. 

 

“Or your gym bag?” asks Volstagg. 

 

“Or your professor glasses?” 

 

“Or the book you  _ wrote _ ?” 

 

“Or your midterms, remember when you forgot your midterms?” 

  
“Your headphones.” 

 

“Your grocery list. Every time.” 

 

“And I can’t tell you how many times we’ve been out at the bar and you “forgot” your wallet.”

 

Thor cringes and gives his friends a self-deprecating smile.  “Am I really that forgetful?” 

 

“Yep. But you always find what you’ve misplaced after you stop trying so hard to find it.” Sif sits down between him and Volstagg, giving Thor a sisterly kiss on the chin. “You’re our big, dumb golden retriever and we  _ love  _ you.” 

 

“I have two doctorates,” Thor mumbles, but then laughs as Volstagg rolls upright and gives him a crushing hug, covering his face in beer-scented kisses. He’s lucky to have so many friends who support him in this and aren’t afraid to show him love or accept his love in return. 

 

Fandral gives his head an affectionate little pat. “So you’re dumb, but you’re not stupid.” 

 

“Hey, don’t”--

 

_ “What are you laughing at?”  _

 

_ “I dunno...Life. Timing. Being here with you. Eating Razzles.”  _

 

Something invisible but powerful grabs Thor by the face and forces him to look at the TV. He can already see Hogun prepared to flip the channel, and flings leans forward, engrossed. 

  
“Don’t...don’t change the channel…” 

 

The room goes silent, save for the charming laughter of the beautiful woman on screen. But she’s secondary. It’s really true what Heimdall told him--the stars feel like they’re aligning right inside him, and he  _ knows _ . 

 

He notices the smile first--tilted to the side, awkward but endearing. It belongs to the kind of person who thinks before they speak, but still manages to stumble to make themselves understood in the most charming way possible. There’s smiles to go out with, and smiles to go to a hotel room at two in the morning with--but this is a smile to come  _ home _ to. Thor folds his hands over his face and just  _ watches _ . He watches his eyes, how bright and warm they are...And his  _ nose _ ! It’s just  _ cute _ ! And his hair--soft and dark and just a little bit wavy...Wow. 

 

“Wow.” 

 

The rest of the world seems to have disappeared. Thor doesn’t notice the way Volstagg clutches at Fandral, or Sif’s quiet gasp of realization--or even Hogun’s rare, bright smile. He doesn’t even pay attention to the dialogue, just the shy, sweet quirkiness of the man’s laugh as he sticks out his red tongue. The sheer  _ rightness _ of it scares him a little, and he feels a little betrayed as the network cuts to a commercial break. 

 

Stunned, Thor leans back against the couch. 

 

For a second, no one knows what to say. Then, Hogun clears his throat and asks the question that hangs above them like a candy-scented fog. 

 

“Was that…” He gestures to the TV, and then to his friend. “Was that the moment? Do you know now?” 

 

Thor blinks a few times, and stares down at his hands. Then, he smiles, and begins to laugh. “Yes...I think it was...I think I do.” 

 

Volstagg raises his fists with a bellowed “YES!”, grabbing Thor in his huge arms and giving him a squeeze. 

 

Sif tosses herself on top of them, followed by Fandral. Hogun crawls to his feet and hops over the coffee table to join in. 

 

“I love you guys,” Thor breathes out with a happy smile, muffled by someone’s arm in front of his face. 

 

He hears Fandral’s voice in his ear, but can’t seem to locate his touch. They’ve all kind of melted together. 

 

“We love you too. Now all you have to decide is who the godfather’s going to be!” 

 

Great.  _ Another _ impossible choice. 

 

Thor grins. “Shut up.”

 

…

 

“Him?!  _ Really?! _ ” 

 

Thor isn’t quite sure why he’s getting booed. He’s right. The awkward cutie from  _ 13 Going On 30 _ , which he has since watched all the way through  _ twice _ , thank you, is perfect. He’s perfect! He doesn’t know what else he can say in his own defense. He shouldn’t have to say anything at all--Loki and Hela should be supportive of him on principle.

 

But they’ve never really been principled people. 

 

“I mean...the eyes are salvageable I  _ guess _ .” Loki zooms in on the picture with a scowl. “And the hair is bearable.” 

 

“But this one is small,” Hela points out, “And  _ weak _ . Why wouldn’t our brother want  _ strong  _ children? But...I  _ suppose _ the ears are fine. Not great, but not below average.” 

 

Thor rolls his eyes and continues sifting through his work email for something other than spam from the student activities board. He doesn’t know why he has to get these! He’s not a  _ student _ , and he has no interest in joining the men’s curling team! And even if he did, he couldn’t because he  _ doesn’t even go here!  _

 

“If you guys are done playing eugenics over there, Dr. Frankensteins,” he declares dryly, “I’ve already shown the picture to the consultant and they more or less found a match.” There. Ha. There’s nothing more that they can criticize him for, because it’s over and done...right? 

 

Loki lowers the tablet slowly. “More? Or  _ less _ ?” 

 

Hela frowns. “Let’s hope for less. I don’t want to be seen with children who have their eyes that far apart.” 

 

Thor sighs and goes back to his work. He’ll never understand why they can’t just be  _ happy  _ for him for  _ once _ , instead of nitpicking and poking and prodding at him until he crumbles. Immediately, his siblings surround him on the couch, resting their heads on his shoulders. 

 

“We only want what’s best for you,” Loki admits, uncharacteristically honest and open-hearted. 

 

Hela rubs her thumb against Thor’s temple the way Mum used to. “And we don’t want your kid to be ugly.” 

 

They have times like this, times when they’re not bickering or rolling their eyes at each other, when the quiet is sacred and they drift together. Mum always used to bring them together like this, and they would cling to her and to each other, but...now that she’s gone, they have to be close on their own, and remind each other of the bond they share. If anything, they’re closer now than ever before. 

 

There’s nothing that needs to be said. 

 

…

 

“Okay, big guy, hold on a second…” Brunnhilde gives Thor a swat on the hip and adjusts the syringe between her fingers. “Quit squirming, you baby!” 

 

Thor keeps his hands over his face and peeks at her through his fingers, groaning when he sees the length of the needle. “Just get it over with!” 

 

She looks up at him and frowns. “I don’t know how you expect me to  _ get it over with  _ when you keep fucking  _ moving _ !” 

 

This happens every time--whether it’s his testosterone shots or his new, fancy luteinizing hormones--she takes her sweet time, he gets antsy, and then the two of them look like idiots with either his thigh or his stomach exposed, with this giant needle between them. Thor takes a deep breath, cringing as he feels the initial prick followed by the familiar feeling of the needle sinking into his muscle. 

 

Brunnhilde slides the needle out and drops it into the ziplock baggie on the counter. “There.” She gives the injection site, just to the side of his belly button, a little rub. “Done. Was that so hard?” 

 

Thor lowers his hands. “Yes.” 

 

She grabs her payment, a bottle of Fireball, off the counter and unscrews the cap with her teeth, spitting it out onto the kitchen floor. It rolls under the fridge, gone forever. It doesn’t matter. It’ll be gone by the end of the night, anyway. 

 

“At least it’s over,” she reminds him as she flops down onto his sofa, putting her feet up onto the coffee table. He’s told her not to so many times, and now he has to simply accept that she doesn’t  _ care _ . “Until you go back on T, that is.” 

 

Thor pulls his shirt down before sliding across the kitchen floor on his socks and hopping into the living room. He can’t help but have a little spring in his step--it’s the last injection. Tomorrow, egg removal. After that, embryos. After  _ that _ , the final IVF cycle and then-- _ hopefully _ \--baby. He has every reason to be giddy, after waiting for  _ so long _ , and working so hard to convince everyone around him that this is the right thing to do. 

 

He sits down on the couch next to her, and she gives him a smile, nudging his shoulder. 

 

“So. You excited?” 

 

“Terrified,” he admits, but smiles anyway, “I mean, the needle is going to be  _ huge _ , and it’s going to be going up my”--

 

Brunnhilde chokes on her whiskey and gives him a hard shove. “Too much information, golden boy!” She laughs, however, and takes another swig right from the bottle. Then, she wipes her mouth and sets the bottle, already a third empty, down on the coffee table by her feet. She leans back against the sofa and smiles at him, reaching out to give his cheek an affectionate little pinch. “You’re really gonna do this, huh? You’re mental.” 

 

Thor shrugs. Maybe this whole thing is a little nuts. But he’s nothing if not optimistic, even to a fault. This whole gamble could go terribly, terribly wrong and leave him broken hearted and shattered for the rest of his life. 

 

Or, it could go terrifically, terrifically  _ right _ . 

 

He looks down at his hands and smiles to himself, laughing a little when Brunnhilde grabs the bottle and begins hovering her face around his.

 

“What’re you thinking about, golden boy?” She reaches forward with the hand she has wrapped around the bottle, extends her finger, and pokes his temple. “Not gettin’ cold feet, are you?” 

 

“Never,” he replies, grinning at her and pushing her hand away. “I’m just thinking about how good of an aunt you’ll be.” That gets Brunnhilde to stick out her tongue at him, never the kind for sappy, emotional conversations. “What! I’m serious!” 

 

She holds up a finger as she chugs the Fireball until the bottle is half empty. When she drinks, her hearing becomes selective--so selective that people are only allowed to talk when she feels like listening. As coarse, and as crude, and as crass as she is, she’s one of Thor’s favorite people on the planet. She’s always there to pretend to listen when he has something to vent about, and to give him a drink to clear his head after. He can always count on her for a good night and for a hand to hold back his hair when he pukes all through the morning. She was the first person he’d told about his crazy, absolutely ludicrous idea to become a father, and even though she’d thought he was pranking him at first, she’s been nothing but supportive in her own way. 

 

Hiccupping and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Brunnhilde offers Thor the bottle. “Drink up.” She does this every time he’s too nice to her--takes control of the conversation and changes the topic. When he gives her a dumb stare, she raises the bottle a little. “Come on. It’ll be your last drink for a while, so you might as well enjoy it.” 

 

Thor takes the bottle and watches the golden brown liquid slosh around before raising it to his lips and taking a long sip. It sets every inch of his mouth on fire, and his gums continue to tingle long after he’s swallowed it. He turns to hand the bottle to Brunnhilde, and notices her staring at him in a way he’s never seen before. It’s not the  _ are you fucking kidding me  _ look, or the  _ for the love of god, shut up  _ look--or even the  _ you’re my favorite dumbass  _ look. It’s something new, something soft, and almost...vulnerable. 

 

“What? Is there something on my face?” 

 

Brunnhilde grabs the bottle and sets it back on the table, gentler this time. “Yeah.” She reaches over and sets a clumsy hand on Thor’s cheek. She rubs it gently with her thumb. “You’re gonna be a great dad, you know that?” Before he can even get used to the sudden, unexpected display of affection, she’s already withdrawing and stealing his TV remote. “Come on. Let’s watch shitty romcoms and get wasted.” 

 

…

 

The surgery, as awkward as it was--the needle had been  _ way worse  _ than Thor had expected, and he’d accidentally kicked his doctor in the nose--had gone pretty well. After less than two days, he’d gotten the call that  _ ten  _ embryos had been successfully fertilized.  _ Ten _ ! He’d been out to lunch with his work friends at the time, and had all but tackled the lot of them in a fit of excitement. Now, there’s only one thing left to do. And he can do it...right? He can do this, right? 

 

Right? 

 

Thor drags a hand down his face, watching himself in the mirror as he scratches at his beard. He sighs. This is it. From here on out, his life is going to be completely different, permanently altered. He’ll never be the person he is right now ever again. In a few hours, he’ll be a dad and once you’re a dad, you’re never  _ not _ a dad, y’know…? It’s a big change, and it’s one that he can’t ever take back. He doesn’t want to--he’s wanted this for as long as he can remember--but the permanence of it all freaks him out a little. Tomorrow, his body won’t just be his anymore; he’ll be guarding something precious, growing an entirely new human completely from fucking  _ scratch _ , and if that’s not terrifying then nothing is. 

 

He’s scared--scared out of his mind. But it’s a good kind of scared. The kind of scared you feel when you’re on a plane to someplace new and exciting and you’ve just taken flight. The kind of scared at  the top of a rollercoaster, knowing that the ride of your life is just over the edge. 

 

But he loves them. He  _ loves _ this child. He loves them so much that it already feels like they’re a part of him. He loves them more than he thought anyone could love anything--he loves them so much that it surprises him. He loves them with every inch of himself, with every cell in his body, every atom. 

 

“Okay,” he tells his reflection, “Okay. You can do this.” 

 

A large, gentle lands on his shoulder and gives him a squeeze. “You sure can, buddy.” 

 

“Thanks, Korg.” Thor blinks at the face in the mirror and turns around to see his friend standing behind him. “Korg?!” 

 

“Yeah, mate?” Korg is a gentle giant of a man, standing at a solid six-four and built like a fucking  _ boulder _ . He gives Thor a warm, toothy grin. “You’re gonna do great, friend. It’s gonna be great.” 

 

Thor nods. “Uh...thank you. But what are you doing in my house?” Korg knows where the key is, obviously--Thor  _ told  _ him where it was. But it’s still a little weird to find your friend standing behind you as you look at yourself in the mirror before you drive to an office downtown for your scheduled solo conception. 

 

“Did you forget?” Korg gives Thor’s shoulder a little squeeze and steps back, standing at his full height. “I’m driving you to your appointment, remember? I asked  _ when’s your appointment?  _ And you said  _ it’s next Tuesday _ . And I asked  _ are you going with anyone?  _ And You said  _ no, I’m going by myself _ . And I said  _ aw, buddy, no, you shouldn’t be alone for something like that--I’ll go with you, mate.  _ And then you said  _ aw, Korg, mate, thank you, I’ll feel so much better if I have a friend there _ . And now it’s next Tuesday, so here I am.”

 

Thor looks up at him, squinting. “Huh. You’re right. I did say that.” He already feels a little less amped up, knowing he won’t be walking in there alone. Sure, it’s a little weird, but this whole thing is weird. He’s an adult man, going to have a stranger’s child inserted into his body with a large needle. So how much weirder could having a friend there possibly be? “Thank you, Korg.” 

 

He just has a...calming presence. It makes people want to be near him, and listen to him, and they’re always compelled to agree. Korg is the perfect revolutionary--kind, gentle, but also powerful and sturdy. Immediately when people come into contact with them, they feel protected. 

 

“Aw, you’re welcome, mate.” Korg heads for the closet by the door, grabbing Thor’s winter jacket for him. “Come on, let’s get going. I have a breakfast sandwich for you in the car.” 

 

Thor follows him out and shrugs on his jacket. “I don’t know what I did right to have a friend like you.” 

 

They met totally by mistake during a bar brawl gone right. They’d taken out a drunk white supremacist in perfect sync, and then enjoyed a few drinks together and put it on the guy’s tab. If Brunnhilde is the friend who tries to get you as drunk as possible as fast as possible, Korg is the friend who drinks your beer once you’re too fucked up to see straight

(so it doesn’t go to waste) and carries you home on his back. Their friendship is the happiest of accidents. 

 

They climb in the car and Thor digs into his breakfast sandwich. He looks down at himself as he chews, and frowns. It’s time to say goodbye to the abs for a while. It’s been fun, but soon, they’ll be covered up entirely. The visible changes his body will endure have been at the forefront of his mind. 

 

The dysphoria has been his overarching concern throughout this process. Many days, he feels like he’s confident enough not only to be able to handle his body in that state, but embrace it. But there are days—everyone has days—when he can’t even look at himself without feeling sick. But those days are few and far between, and most of the time he can talk himself out of doubting.

 

He’s not doubting now. 

 

But it still feels a little weird. 

 

“Nervous?” Korg asks, turning down the radio. 

 

Korg has many good things about him that Thor likes and agrees with--his far-left political views, his love for dogs, his overwhelming kindness, and his taste in books, to name a few--but one of those things he  _ doesn’t  _ like and agree with is Korg’s taste in music. When Thor seeks out music, he’s seeking a good time--something that’ll give his mood a boost and get stuck in his head for days. Korg’s music is all... _ hard rock _ . And it  _ does  _ put him a little more on edge. 

 

Thor frowns at his sandwich. He feels like he shouldn’t be--if he’s nervous, maybe that means he doesn’t really want this. He should feel excited, and  _ only  _ excited. Anxiety must mean  _ doubt _ , and he doesn’t want to doubt, not after he’s worked this hard and come this far. “No…” He cringes at his tone, small and whiny and pathetic. 

 

His friend puts a hand on his head, ruffling his hair a little. “It’s okay to be nervous, mate. It’s a big deal.” Korg’s hand returns to the wheel, and he gives that warm, sincere smile that makes everyone feel lucky to be around him. “But it’ll shake out. Always does, with you, ‘cause you got your mum and dad watching out for you.” 

Talking about his parents is still a sore spot for him, but this doesn’t feel like dumping salt into an open wound like it usually does. He doesn’t feel a sting in his eyes and a burn in his chest, and he doesn’t want to withdraw into himself or throw himself at the nearest person for comfort. Instead, it slides over his wounds like a balm, soothing the constant, underlying pain inside of him. It’s like the weight of something--something heavy, and solid and metal sitting on his chest that nobody can lift to help him--has suddenly slid off of him. He smiles and tilts his head against the window, watching the world as it passes. He saw the world differently after his parents’ death. He’d been terrified that he’d forget them, that their memories and their presence would drift away from him, lost forever to time. 

 

But now, as he stands at the threshold of parenthood himself, he feels closer to them than ever. 

 

“Thanks, Korg.” 

 

The clunky little van pulls into the clinic parking lot, and Thor expects to get out alone and for Korg to return to his day, or wait in the car for him to come out. However, he jumps a little when the second door swings open. 

 

“Uh...what’re you doing?” he asks as his friend pushes his door shut. Korg doesn’t answer, and instead pulls Thor into a strong, warm hug. They’re both affectionate, touchy people--it’s one of the reasons they work together so well. Thor, as tall as he is, still has to stand on his toes a little, and struggles to get his arms around his friend’s huge body. He smiles at him as they pull apart. “Thank you.” 

 

“Any time, buddy,” Korg replies with a big smile, looking down at Thor the way he looks at everyone--like they’re the most important person he’s ever met. “Lead the way, mate.” 

 

Thor gives Korg’s forearm a squeeze in thanks and turns to look at the clinic doors. He takes a deep breath. He’s walked through these doors a dozen times. He can do it again.  _ There’s nothing to fear _ , he reminds himself,  _ you’ve done far more reckless things than this and it always turns out all right. You make impulsive decisions all the time--and this isn’t an impulsive decision, this took lots of time and planning, so if your random ideas work out well, your planned ideas must work out even better.  _

 

He takes a deep breath, lowers his shoulders, and walks inside. 

 

…

 

The camera seems a little off-center, and Thor takes a second to set the test face-down on the sink to adjust it. It’s recording, and he’ll have to edit out the quiet  _ “shit!”  _ he mutters when he nearly drops it on the floor. He sets it back on the tripod, shakily pushing it around until it’s more or less even. Hopefully more than less. It doesn’t have to be a masterpiece, but he’d prefer if it looked at least like an Oscar  _ nominated  _ documentary. It doesn’t have to win.

 

He steps back, taking a deep breath in and picking the test back up. It’s been a mere five minutes since he took it; there’s no way it’s done cooking quite yet. 

 

Grinning, Thor gives a tiny wave. This is the first time he’s spoken to his child—and he’s not even sure there’s even a child  _ there.  _

 

“Uh…” He wiggles his fingers awkwardly. “Hi there...baby.” It feels a little silly, something that he’s going to remember when watching this in the future with his baby once they’re old enough (hopefully, if it works. But it’s going to work.). “So, uh...today is...um…” He glances at his phone for the date and rattles it off. “And today, right now, right this second, I’m going to find out if you’re actually here.” 

 

It’s already a nerve-wracking situation, but having the camera on him does nothing but make him more anxious. His head’s spinning, and his stomach is doing nauseous flip flops that he not-so-secretly hopes are baby flops, and not panic attack flops. 

 

Thor clears his throat. “So two weeks ago, I had you implanted--you’re lucky I didn’t film that.” He’d laid there, feet up in stirrups, counting the plaster squares on the ceiling, as someone sucked up three embryos with a glorified pipette and quite literally fired them into his body. The memory makes him cringe and laugh. “I got three embryos put in, so hopefully one of them stuck.” Worst case scenario, he has seven more waiting in a freezer that he can use. The middle of the road, the most likely option, is that one of them stuck, and two of them have already fallen away. 

 

The balls-to-the-wall scenario is that all three of them stuck, and he’s gonna have to manage raising three babies all on his own. 

 

But that’s pretty unlikely...right? 

 

It’s becoming harder and harder for him to swallow, and he glances at the face-down test sitting on the edge of the sink. He splurged, choosing the fifteen dollar, name brand, digital option over the cheaper one. Eighty-six percent accurate. 

 

“So…” He feels his shoulders tense up and lowers them, bringing his attention back to the camera. “If all of that worked--which  _ god,  _ I hope it did--it would put me at, say, three or four weeks right now.” Symptoms are supposed to start at four weeks, so the fact that he doesn’t  _ feel  _ any different isn’t entirely alarming, but he still feels...he can’t find the right word to express it, but the closest thing to it is  _ guilty _ . 

 

Everyone always talks about knowing you’re pregnant from the moment it happens--mother’s intuition, and all that. Maybe it’s because he’s not a mother, but Thor haven't felt  _ any _ divine certainty. He hasn’t had prophetic dreams, or any sudden telepathic contact with the soul of his child, or whatever else those Organic West Coast Mommies talk about on their Wix sites and Blogspots. 

 

All he’s felt is sore. 

 

And exhausted. 

 

And impatient. 

 

With a little bit of heartburn thrown in, but that’s neither here nor there. 

 

The test on the sink stares at him, daring him to pick it up and flip it over. And Thor is not the kind of guy to resist a challenge. Any time someone tells him that he can’t--or even that he simply  _ shouldn’t _ \--he  _ does _ . Tell him he can’t shotgun three beers in a row? Fuck you, he’ll shotgun four just to show you he can. Tell him it’s not reasonable to get a liberal arts degree? Fine. He’ll get  _ two  _ liberal arts degrees, and then two liberal arts  _ masters _ and  _ then _ two liberal arts  _ doctorates  _ and land a prestigious teaching position all before he’s thirty. Tell him that he can’t raise a child on his own? Just fucking watch him. 

 

He feels a little rush of confidence surge through him as he wordlessly reminds himself that  _ yes _ , he can do this. Even if the decision to was reckless and impulsive. After all, he makes reckless and impulsive decisions all the time and it always seems to work out in the end. 

 

Confidently, he picks up the stick and gives it a shake in front of the camera. 

 

“So let’s see it, then!” Thor lets out a short, quick breath and...flips the test over. 

 

And immediately forgets that the camera is running. 

 

In fact, he forgets...pretty much everything. The entire universe is lost on him as every single cell in his body narrows down to the little plastic stick in his hand, and the neat, digital black word that starts with a P and ends with a T and has turned his entire world on its head. 

 

It’s...he’s...Oh my god...

 

“Oh my god…” His arms lift into the air, and he feels like he’s about to burst with happiness. “YES!” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello!! i'm so sorry i took so long to update--i was on vacation, and then i had some extra classes finishing up! but i'm back now, and planning on locking myself somewhere with no wifi so i can really get this fic going! i'm almost done with chapter three!! ♡
> 
> please let me know how y'all like it!!

_ Week Eight _

 

For the past few weeks, Thor has felt like he’s been walking on a cloud. A cloud that’s made of water (as all clouds are), that he keeps falling through because he has no idea what he’s doing--but a cloud nonetheless. 

 

The first thing he noticed is how  _ exhausting  _ this whole thing is. The fatigue weighs down on him like a weight clinging to his body, and he finds himself yawning at noon, needing a nap by two, and fast asleep by eleven. It sort of feels like being a student again, falling asleep on the couch with his glasses sliding down his nose and his book laying face-down on his chest. The only difference is that now he can’t load up on coffee to wake him up. He has to kind of drag himself through the day and pray for the best.

 

After being tired all the time came being  _ nauseous  _ all the time. He knows that it’s cheesy to complain that morning sickness shouldn’t be called that because it persists all day, but it’s true, and it sucks, and he’s slightly mad about it. The past few days have been the worst so far, with the nausea coming and going more frequently and in stronger waves. He’s already thrown up twice today, and he  _ still  _ feels a little queasy right now. Everything sets him off: being in the car, rolling over in bed--and pretty much anything and everything smells and tastes horrible right now. Hell, this morning, the overpowering scent of his own shampoo, the same one he’s been using for  _ years _ , had him stumbling out of the shower with his hair all sudsy to throw up. 

 

And then there’s the cramps, and the soreness, and that hasn’t been fun either. 

 

But then his happiness roars through like a freight train hitting him at top speed and mows over all of that. The ups and downs have been weighed on a cosmic scale, and the final verdict is that he’s more happy than he is stressed. 

 

He’s showing now, just a little bit at the right angle, if he really squints. He’s not sure when it started, but it  _ feels  _ like it happened overnight. When he’d first noticed, he thought it was just a trick of the light--and  _ then  _ he thought it was a trick of the  _ mirror _ . And after that he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him too; it was plausible, seeing as he’s nearly blind in his right eye. It wasn’t until someone had pointed it out to him that it had been confirmed, and now it’s at the forefront of his mind. 

 

Each time Thor passes himself in the mirror, he finds himself turning himself side to side, catching the very slight, very subtle outward curve of his abdomen. It reminds him that this is happening, that there’s a child right  _ there _ , growing rapidly and lowering his blood pressure and stealing all his food and making him have weird dreams. 

 

Like... _ really  _ weird dreams. 

 

But the only dream that matters to him now is the one that’s coming true; he’s a  _ father  _ now, with a child the size of a raspberry who has a heartbeat and little hands and feet with little webbed fingers and toes, and arms and legs that can move around! And they’re right here! With him every single moment of every day! 

 

Thor is constantly aware of them, but they don’t exactly make it easy to forget. They’re already a little attention grabber, constantly making him nauseous and crampy. It’s their way of saying  _ Hey, Papa! I’m here! Pay attention to me!  _ And he always does, even if it’s just to rub the spot underneath his belly button with his thumb as a gentle reminder to settle down. 

 

He feels like he already knows so much about them, even though he can’t hear their voice or see their face, or feel them move. He knows that they have a wild imagination, since they give him the oddest hormone dreams, and that they don’t like the smell of his shampoo, and that they’re growing and learning every day. 

 

But today, Thor is gonna get to know his weird little web-toed baby just a little bit more. Today, he’s going to get to _ see  _ them on a screen and  _ hear _ their heartbeat! Just the thought of it makes him feel excited, a little bit queasy, and profoundly happy. Nothing could surprise him now! 

 

Which brings him here, to Brunnhilde’s apartment on a Wednesday afternoon, staring at the window behind the couch and watching the January snow drift down towards the ground and trying to figure out how to word the following request. 

 

“I need a favor.” Okay, perhaps it’s not very  _ graceful _ , but it’s quick and to the point. 

 

Thor is a pretty straightforward guy, but he’s the kind of straightforward that comes with just a  _ little  _ bit of impulse control. A little. Not much. Just enough to keep him alive. When he has something to say, he says it-- _ if  _ it’s appropriate for him to do so. When he has something he wants, he gets it--but  _ only  _ if he can afford it and if it’s not gonna backfire and kill him. Wants are easy. When he wants something, he doesn’t have to rely on anyone to get it; if he wants ice cream, he can go out and buy it and needs no one but himself to do it. It’s easy. But  _ needs _ ? 

 

Needs are tough. 

 

Needs require a level of vulnerability that he was once afraid to show. Needs require trust, and he’s trusting to a fault. Needs involve another person, and that person can easily reject his requests. He has to be willing to depend on someone, to open himself up to the possibility of getting hurt. And he has gotten hurt--many, many times--and it probably won’t be long before he gets hurt again. 

 

So when he approaches Brunnhilde with this  _ need _ , he does it with his heart on his sleeve, vulnerable and exposed and accepting the possibility that he’ll be let down. 

 

However, she just shrugs, closing her book and setting it on the coffee table. “Okay.” 

 

“It’s a…” He clears his throat and hovers his hand around his torso in a  _ you know what I mean  _ motion. “Baby favor.” 

 

It’s easy to tell that she’s trying not to smile as she says: “Gross, but okay.” 

Thor sits down next to her on the sofa, rolling her eyes when she laughs at how awkwardly he moves these days. He leans his back against her side, unfolding his legs across the cushions so he has some breathing room. 

 

“So,” Brunnhilde starts off, glancing over to him suspiciously, “What is this ‘baby favor’”--She accentuates his words with air quotes. “If you’re asking me to be there when you squeeze it out, the answer is  _ absolutely not _ .” 

 

“Oh, gross!” Thor laughs, giving her a playful nudge with his shoulders, “I would never ask you to do that.” There’s a long list of people who he’d be okay with having there, and he’s split it up into tiers. Tier one are the people who he absolutely needs to have there (his brother and his sister); tier two are the people who would be reliable and calm and could help him deliver his baby on the side of the road if the situation absolutely called for it (Heimdall, Hogun, Sif, Jane, Erik, and Natasha); tier three are the people who might panic a little, but could get the job done as a last resort (Fandral, Volstagg, Gamora, James, Steve, T’Challa, and Sam); then, there’s the Forbidden Tier, of people who, if they were offered to him as his only support, he would reject and settle for doing the whole thing himself. (Brunnhilde, Quill, and definitely Stark). 

 

She grins and snickers quietly to herself, grinning when she sees the way his tummy jumps whenever he laughs. “Thank God. As long as it’s not that, I can handle it.” 

“Will you come to my ultrasound appointment with me at two?” The question hangs in the air, and Thor starts to freak himself out in an attempt to figure out what she’s going to say. He quickly continues, because talking his way in and out of potentially awkward situations is on his moderately long (he’s not one to brag) list of things that he’s good at. “It’s just that I don’t want to be alone...I would’ve asked my brother, but he’s in Barbados for the week with his ‘boyfriend’”--

 

She nods thoughtfully. “His sugar daddy, yes, go on.” 

 

“And my sister is just…” Thor scrunches his face up distastefully at the thought of his sister attempting to emotionally support him without Loki to balance her out. “God, she’s just the  _ worst _ .” And Sif has a cold, and refuses to come near Thor out of fear of making him sick; somewhere off in the distance, Thor hears her sneeze loudly from the bedroom. “BLESS YOU!” he shouts, hoping his voice will travel down the hall. 

 

There’s a long pause, and then Sif shouts back a weak “THANK YOU!” 

 

Brunnhilde grins, reaching over and giving his tummy an affectionate little pat. It’s still weird to have people constantly trying to touch him--even people like Brunnhilde, who aren’t exactly what one would call... _ affectionate _ . He smiles at her brightly. 

 

“Of course I’ll go with you, Papa,” she teases lightly, “Especially if it means I’ll get to see the kid before Influenza Jones down the hall.” 

 

Sif and Brunnhilde have been together since before any of them knew what together was. As kids, the two of them had been inseparable to the extent that Volstagg used to joke about how they should braid their hair together so they could be together all the time. Play-wrestling and friendly competition became flirting, and that flirting became foreplay, and the rest became history. Even now, after being married for nearly five years, their relationship had kept its playful edge. They would do anything for each other, but not without some light teasing. 

 

Thor leans his head against her shoulder, stifling a yawn. “Thank you.” 

 

“Don’t mention it.” Brunnhilde gives him a nudge and grins. “Seriously, don’t mention it. I have a reputation to uphold.” She reaches over and gives his long hair a tiny pull. “You’ll have to cut that off before they come out,” she warns light-heartedly, “If you don’t, they’re going to yank on it so much that you’re going to be bald before you’re forty.” 

 

Thor frowns and mumbles something about how he likes his hair very much, thank you, and how he shall not cut it anytime soon, for any reason. Then, he leans back against the back of the couch, tilts his head back, and takes a nap for the second time that day. 

 

Since his symptoms started, waking up has  _ not _ been a pleasant experience. Even a nap in the sun or eight hours of sleep, Thor still wakes up feeling just as exhausted as he’d been right before passing out. Not only that, but it takes him even longer to get his bearings with the nausea that grabs him by the gut and throws him for a loop. 

 

In fact, that’s exactly what wakes him up; he’s gagging before he’s yawning, the world blurry and tilted as he opens his eyes. With a shaky hand, he adjusts his glasses, swallowing down the bile and looking around the room as it comes into view. There’s no doubt that this is Brunnhilde and Sif’s home; the stack of women’s trainers by the door, the crocheted curtains over the window behind him, and the copy of Rita Mae Brown’s  _ Ruby-Fruit Jungle _ sitting on the coffee table tells him so. 

 

As Thor gathers his bearings, the nausea ebbs away like a harsh tide from the shore line; it’s sure to return, and with a vengeance, but the horizon is clear for now. A cute little sneeze, much like a kitten’s, draws him from his own thoughts and he  smiles as he turns body towards towards the hallway. 

 

“Don’t get too close,” Sif warns, sniffling and wiping her red nose as she pulls her blanket tighter around herself. She waves the hand that doesn’t have a wad of tissues fisted into it. “I’m just here to see you off before your appointment. I wish I could go with you, but…” She leans against the doorframe and sneezes into her hand, making a face when she pulls it away. “The last thing you need right now is to get sick.” 

 

Thor smiles at her and shuffles to his feet, shaking the exhaustion off of his shoulders. “Thank you,” he replies as he glances at the clock. Quarter past one. “You’re more than welcome to come to the next one.”

 

A sleepy smile graces Sif’s flushed-out face. “Oh, I was going to go whether you invited me or not.” 

 

“I’ll send ‘Hilde home with pictures and chicken soup,” Thor promises, grinning when Sif’s tired eyes light up as much as they’re able to. The question he’s been burning to ask her since he found out that he was expecting clings to the tip of his tongue. He can’t ask her now--if he asks her now, she’ll want to hug him, but she won’t allow herself to since she’s sick. Asking her to be his baby’s godmother feels like proposing marriage; he’s excited, and a little bit nauseous, and he just wants to make sure that the scene is set  _ just right _ .

 

“How is it that even when you’re sick, you look gorgeous?” Brunnhilde asks her wife as she rounds the corner, shrugging on her leather jacket. She sets the back of her hand on Sif’s forehead, frowning as she tries to check the temperature. “You’re still burning up.” 

 

Sif tiredly leans her cheek against Brunnhilde’s hand. “I’ll be fine. Now  _ go _ \--and drive safely. Please? There’s precious cargo now.” 

 

“Oh, so I’m not precious?” Brunnhilde pretends to be offended, scoffing as she gives Sif’s cheek a pinch. Then, she leans forward to kiss her on the tip of her red nose. “You know me, babe. I  _ always  _ drive safe.” 

 

Rolling her eyes, Sif looks to Thor apologetically. “Don’t hesitate to yell at her if she drives like a madwoman,” she offers, granting him permission to do something he already does every Brunhilde is behind the wheel, “Or just...throw up on the leather seats.” 

 

The mere thought of throwing up makes Thor feel a little gaggy again, but he smiles as he takes a deep breath, pushing the feeling down. “Thank you, Sif. I’ll be sure to use that to my advantage.” 

 

“Oi!” Brunnhilde stomps towards the door with a playful scowl, grabbing her keys off the hook. She holds them over her head and gives them a jingle, like Thor is a golden retriever and she’s trying to beckon him into the kitchen by shaking the Milk-Bone box. “Let’s go. And if you even  _ think  _ about throwing up in my car, you’ll be walking to your appointment in the snow.” 

 

Thor frowns and grabs his coat. 

 

…

 

Brunnhilde drove as carefully as she could, which wasn’t  _ great _ , but it was better than the constant short-stopping, swerving, and laying her hand on the horn at every elderly woman who leaves her blinkers on for a mile. And Thor does  _ not  _ throw up on the leather seats, which he’s quite proud of. 

 

Walking into the clinic isn’t as scary as it was the first time. At this point, everyone knows him--some more, ahem,  _ intimately _ than others--and wants to check up on his progress.

 

“Hello, Marjorie,” Thor greets as he reaches the reception desk, grinning brightly. He takes the clipboard and jots down the date and his signature, before reaching for his wallet to grab his insurance card, “I’ve come for my first check-in. The winter has been treating you well, I hope--oh, and this is my friend Brunnhilde, she’s come to be my handler this time.” He nods his head to his friend, who glances up from her phone just to wave.  

 

“It’s so nice that you have so many friends coming to support you, dear.” Marjorie--in her mid-fifties with a round face, crow’s feet, and a warm smile--accepts the card and sets a friendly hand on Thor’s arm. “You look well, don’t you?” she asks, giving his arm a subtle squeeze, “Let me see that face of yours.” He leans forward, and she spends a fair amount of time caressing his cheeks. “You’re rounding out--and  _ oh _ !” Her eyes, shielded behind her wire-rimmed glasses, drift downard and land on his tummy and her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Already showing, too?” 

 

“I know!” He grins and turns to the side only slightly so she can see the bump a little better. Then, he frowns thoughtfully. “It almost feels too early…” Something...there’s nothing wrong, right? If something’s wrong, Thor won’t know what to do with himself. He worked so hard to get here, and has wanted this so badly for so long, and he’s already so attached. This child, with their little webbed feet and hands, has stolen his heart entirely; he’s loved them before they were even there, before they were even a thought in the back of his mind. He was built to love them, hard-wired from his own conception with all of this already planned out, and fate laid his life out as it had in order to prepare him. So this  _ can’t  _ go wrong. It  _ won’t _ go wrong. He has to have faith in that. 

 

Marjorie, blessed be her, dispels his worries with a smile and a peppermint candy that she places in his palm to help with the nausea. “Everyone experiences this differently,” she promises, the same way she’s probably reassured hundreds of parents that came before him, “Chances are, your baby’s just big. Or, since you had a few implanted, you might have more than one.” 

 

At the mention of  _ more than one _ , Thor hears Brunnhilde snort out a laugh beside him. Joke’s on her, because he would be  _ beside himself  _  with joy if he had more than one child. He just barely resists the urge to stick his tongue out at her. 

 

“Plus,” Marjorie adds with a twinkle in her eye, “You didn’t exactly have a lot of fat on your bones to begin with, did you? Not with those washboard abs…” 

 

Thor is halfway through thanking her when Brunnhilde grabs his arm and starts dragging him towards a seat. She plops down next to him and immediately gets on her phone. 

 

“Hey. Hey, Papa. Look at me.” She slides her fingers over the screen and zooms in on his face. When he pretends to ignore her, picking up an (upside down) magazine and flipping through it, she lightly pokes his side. “ _ Hey _ .” 

 

He rolls his eyes, giving her hand a fond little swat and staring directly into her phone’s camera. “What?” 

 

Brunnhilde reaches out and pokes his tummy. “You’re getting fat already.” 

 

Thor lifts the (upside down) magazine a little higher over his face to hide his smile. “God, you’re annoying.” Although it was bittersweet saying goodbye to the muscles he’d worked so hard to gain and maintain, he doesn’t mind that he’s a little softer around the edges now. He’s carrying something precious, that’s more important than having nice muscles that he can show off all the time. 

 

“Are you nervous?” she asks, leaning in close to him and making sure she’s filming him from the worst possible angle, “Are you worried think it’s gonna have an extra toe? Or maybe a third arm?” 

 

Thor shoves her playfully. “I  _ wasn’t _ , but now I am.” He reaches for her phone, ignoring her protests as he turns the front camera on himself. Okay, wow. Maybe his face  _ is  _ rounding out a little. “Now, baby, I want you to know that I love you very much, and that although I doubt you will have any extra parts, I will love you unconditionally if you do.” 

 

Brunnhilde rolls her eyes and snatches her phone back. “Gross,” she mutters, but she’s smirking. 

 

Now it’s his turn to tease, and he gives her soft cheek a little poke. “Look at you, you’re smiling! You’re  _ excited  _ about this, aren’t you? Come on…” He knows that she is, but he just wants to hear her  _ say it _ . She smacks his hand away with a light smile. 

“Will you stop  _ pestering  _ me?” she demands, unable to keep the smile off of her face for long as he goes back to prodding her. “Quit it!” Thor continues to poke at her and egg her on, until finally she looks at him with with an exasperated grin. “Fine. I… _ might _ be a little excited.” She shoves a reprimanding finger in his face. “A  _ little _ !”  She rolls her eyes when Thor leans back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “You’re insufferable, you know that?” 

 

Thor crosses his arms over his chest, elbows resting carefully on his belly. “I absolutely know that,” he replies, trying to sound firm and sure of himself. He needs all the confidence he can get right now.

 

It’ll be fine. He knows it will. But it’s the  _ wait  _ that’s killing him. He’s never been the most patient person, and right now he’s so antsy that he’s more than half tempted to find himself a room, put the gel on his own stomach, grab the wand, and do the exam himself. If this fifteen minute wait is intolerable, the coming months are going to be  _ agonizing _ . 

 

They both carry on in an easy silence, scrolling through their phones. Thor’s in enough group chats that his phone vibrates in his hand few minutes, which is great for passing the time, but awful when he’s trying to get work done. All of his friends and coworkers are spamming him with good luck wishes and four leaf clover emojis, as well as orders to send pictures as soon as he gets them. 

 

He’s halfway through a casual email to the head of his department when he hears his name, and Brunnhilde elbows him in the ribs. 

 

“Looks like you’re up,” she tells him, pointing to the nurse practitioner holding his file. 

 

Names are exchanged, hands are shaken, and the nurse—Claire, which is a lovely name and Thor should probably write it down somewhere and start a list of potential names—leads the two of them down a brightly lit hallway a and into a welcoming little exam room. 

 

The soft, mint colored walls send a wave of calm excitement over him, ebbing away with his anxiety and leaving nothing but happy eagerness in its wake. The paintings on the walls remind him where he is, and what he’s here to do; every floral piece looks like a vulva, and there’s a particularly quirky still life of a bowl of eggs by the ultrasound. A little on the nose, but still  rather charming. 

 

Thor gets cozy on the cot, shuffling his shoulders and trying to figure out what to do with his arms. The seat was no doubt purchased with people far shorter than him in mind, but it’s not his fault that he’s gloriously tall and golden! Once he gets comfortable, he folds his hands and smiles excitedly at Brunnhilde, who’s seated herself with her legs crisscrossed in the chair next to him. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. 

 

Okay. Moment of truth. Nothing’s going to be wrong. It’s all going to be fine, and his baby is going to be small and healthy, with ten little webbed fingers and ten little webbed toes, and a strong, fast heartbeat, and he’s going to love them more than he ever thought were possible. If he really clears all the clutter from his mind, Thor can just  _ almost  _ feel his parents’ presences beside him. He can feel the memory of his father, steadfast and sturdy, and his mother, soft and firm. He knows that dwelling on the past does nothing but hurt, but he can’t help but wish that they were here, especially Mum. 

 

He tries not to let the ache of their absence linger most of the time, and instead focuses on the lives that they wanted for him and his siblings. They wanted the three of them to be safe, and healthy, and  _ together _ . Maybe that’s the hardest part—keeping themselves from drifting apart from one another. Thor’s anchored himself to Loki and Hela, and maybe this baby is also a way to bring them closer. Before Mum and Dad died, a huge rift had opened between the three of them, like they were each standing at a corner of the Bermuda Triangle, unable to communicate properly or truly  _ reach  _ each other, their good intentions lost in the storm and tides. 

 

Hela had branched out as far as she possibly could without falling from the tree, traveling far and wide and often not responding to calls for months at a time. Loki had stayed close, but moved into the city and buried himself in parties, opulence, and corporate indulgence, so he felt further away than ever. Thor hadn’t stuck around either, spending most of his time on university campuses, burying himself in his studies and getting degree after degree, following his obsession with earning approval and proving his worth. 

 

They couldn’t keep them together during this life, but maybe Mum and Dad could keep them together from the next one. 

 

As he pushes up his shirt with baited breath, and winces as the cold gel hits his sensitive skin, Thor thinks about what his mother would tell him right now. She’d hold his hand, and rub his temple, and remind him to breathe. Easy, smooth breaths slide in and out of his body. 

 

“Are you ready to see your baby?” Claire asks, holding up the wand with a warm smile. She must be a good four hours into her shift already, but her eyes don’t show even a flicker of exhaustion. 

 

Brunnhilde squeezes his arm in encouragement, and Thor clears his throat. 

 

“I…Yeah.” It takes him a second to find his words. “Yes, I am, thank you. I know this is a little…I know I’m an unusual case, so I appreciate you not treating me like I’m, I don’t know…weird.” Everyone at this clinic has been so welcoming and comforting, and nobody has so much as looked at him funny. 

 

Claire smiles and sets a hand on his. “You’re not an unusual case,” she promises, her face laid out and open, and nothing but honest, “And you’re not weird. You’re just like every other patient we have here: you’re someone trying to start a family. And we’re all here to help and support you in any way we can.” When she says it like that, so driven and committed, it pulls at something inside of him, drawing forth the pride and confidence that he’s been struggling to grasp. 

 

“You’re definitely weird,” Brunnhilde assures him with a sideways smile, “But not because of this.” Even when she’s being sincere, she can’t help but tease him. He wouldn’t have her any other way, which is great because she’s as stubborn as a bull and will never change. She rubs his arm. “Go ahead, Papa. I’ll make sure to get the whole thing on video.” 

 

Thor nods to Claire, who smiles and lightly presses the flat end of the white wand against his skin. The dark screen in front of them flickers to life. Everything starts to come into view, but not into focus. It’s all just a big, white and gray lump of static He’s not quite sure what he’s looking at, but he just hopes that it’s normal. 

 

“Sometimes, the baby is hard to find,” Claire explains as she moves the wand around slowly, “Especially at eight weeks because they’re really tiny, and—oh!” 

 

The way she says  _ oh  _ makes Thor’s breath catch in his throat and his heart stop. Brunnhilde’s hand finds his before he can even search for it, and she rubs her thumb over his knuckles. 

 

“It’s okay, Papa,” she mumbles into his ear. Usually when she calls him that, she does it to tease him, but this time it’s sincere and comforting. She’s always said that she has no nurturing instincts, even brags about it sometimes, but it’s bullshit. She has them. She has them, and she’s using them right now, and they’re  _ working _ .  “It’s okay, just breathe.” 

 

Thor sucks in a shaky breath. “Is everything okay?” he asks slowly, fighting the urge to shoot quick, semiautomatic questions at this poor woman. He watches the screen as it moves with dread churning in his stomach. Three black blobs sit in the middle of the screen, one above and two below, each with a gray little dot in the middle. 

 

Claire smiles, probably one of those comforting smiles that she learned to do in medical school to use when a patient dies. She points to the screen and focuses on the first blob. “This baby is perfectly healthy,” she promises, and then gestures to the blob beside it, “And so is this one, and”—

 

He lets out a sigh of relief, and then his eyebrows furrow as he stares at the screen. “Uh…what?” Mouth agape, Thor looks at the screen, and then at his stomach. Then, he looks at Brunnhilde, who points to the screen again with the biggest smile that he’s ever seen plastered onto her beautiful face. Thor has to adjust his glasses and lean forward so he can squint at the blobs. It’s no use. They’re still blurry as all hell. His heart does a backflip. “Wait, I’m sorry, hold on…are you telling me that there’s  _ two  _ of them in there?” 

 

“Actually…” Claire moves the wand a little and points to the third grayish dot. “There’s three. Congratulations!” 

 

If Thor thought that finding out he was pregnant had thrown his world a hundred and eighty degrees off its axis, this just grabbed his entire planet by the equator and threw it way the fuck out of orbit. His brain spaces out for a minute, and he feels like he’s floating among the stars before he rockets back to Earth and crashes right into this very room. 

 

Three of them. 

 

There’s three of them. There’s  _ three  _ of them. Oh, good god, there’s  _ three of them _ ! 

 

He can hear Brunnhilde laughing her head off beside him, but it’s all background static as he drags a hand down his face. It was a possibility, of course, but he hadn’t actually expected it to  _ happen _ ! Twins, maybe, but  _ triplets _ ?! 

 

The shock wears off and the joy comes roaring in and mows him down. He covers his mouth, unsure if he’s going to laugh, or cry, or vomit on the floor. Maybe all three. Probably all three. 

 

“Three babies, oh my god…” Thor gazes at the screen and drops his hand to show off his smile. He didn’t think that he could ever be this happy—he never thought this kind of happiness was possible, but these kids just keep surprising him! Thor wants to track down the person who donated their genes, grab them by the face, and kiss them full on the mouth because they didn’t just give him one baby, no! They gave him  _ three _ ! He laughs shakily and wipes the corners of his eyes. “Oh my god…” It’s all he can say. He’s losing his mind, Brunnhilde is losing her mind, and his siblings are gonna lose their minds and so are all his friends. 

 

And he couldn’t be happier if he tried. 

 

…

 

“Three babies?!” Loki demands, his face small on Thor’s phone screen. It looks like he’s having the time of his life in the tropics, wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and Gucci sunglasses, sunburnt to high heaven. Thor has to hold the phone away from him to keep his brother’s screaming from making his ears bleed. “You’re having  _ three whole ass babies!? _ ” 

 

Thor wrinkles his nose. “Yes, Loki, three  _ whole ass  _ babies. I don’t know how I would have a  _ half ass  _ baby, and since I’m having three of them, that would be  _ one  _ whole ass baby and a half, and that just wouldn’t make sense!” 

 

“Oh my god.” Loki adjusts his sunglasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shut up, oh my god.” 

 

Thor holds his phone out with one hand, and waves the other. “Surprise! There’s going to be three little me’s running around! Isn’t that exciting!?”   

 

Exhausted, Loki stares blankly into the camera. “Three little you’s,” he mutters to himself. Then, he lifts up his head and gives Thor a tense smile. It’s his business smile, the one he uses with investors when they propose a deal that he’s  _ definitely  _ not going take. “Yes, Thor, that’s…that’s just great… God, I need a drink.” 

 

Even though he refuses to show it, Thor knows his brother is happy. Loki’s just…crafty, and guarded, and very bad at wearing his heart on his sleeve. He’s probably spent the whole week thus far schmoozing with his “boyfriend” and all his bougie, weird friends, so Thor accepts that he’s happy, but exhausted. 

 

“Okay, I just wanted you to know!” Thor replies, adjusting himself on his couch. “Go back to your vacation and have a good time, doing…whatever you guys do, alright?” Probably champagne, and caviar, and  _ orgies _ , and stuff like that. Yuck. “And  _ relax _ , Loki, that’s what vacations are for.” 

 

Loki’s smile becomes a little less formal. It means a lot to Thor, because he knows how much Loki’s emotional safeguards mean to him and how much he values his ability to hide his feelings. “Congratulations, brother,” he says simply, his voice gentle and sincere. For a second, he reminds Thor of Mum. “I have to go, but I’ll talk to you when I can.” 

 

And with that, he’s gone. 

 

Thor sighs and glances out the open window behind him. A few snowflakes have squeezed through the mesh screen and landed on the windowsill. Amazing, how it’s freezing out, and yet he’s still so toasty that he needs to open the window and sit in front of it. These hot flashes are going to be the death of him by the time summer comes. He’s still relatively in a state of blissful shock, constantly hyper-aware of the presence of his  _ children  _ with him on the sofa. Children. Plural.  _ Oof.  _ That’s gonna take some getting used to. 

 

Yawning, Thor grabs his phone and sends a picture of the sonogram to his sister, complete with a caption reading “Congratulations, Auntie! All three of us can’t wait to meet you!” and a copious amount of emojis. 

 

Three hours later, Hela leaves him on read. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello, and welcome back!!! thank you so much to every person who posted so many kind comments on chapter 2!! i couldn't reply to everyone individually, but i want to just say as a blanket statement that i'm so grateful and feel so blessed that people really like this story!!! it's been really fun to write, so it means the world to me to know that you guys like it!! 
> 
> furthermore, THANK YOU for being so patient before bruce gets introduced. there's going to be two more chapters and then a time skip, so he'll join the party in chapter 6 and then we can really get the ball rolling!! i've been working on chapter 4, and instead of being little snippets of scenes like this chapter and the last ones, it's going to be just one long scene with a ton of character cameos! 
> 
> i'm going to be abroad for the next week, but when i get back i'm going to wrap up chapter 4, get into chapter 5 so we can finally have some triplets up in here, and then the exposition phase of the story will be over and we can move in to the new plot!!! 
> 
> as always, please don't hesitate to tell me what you guys think!! ♡

_ Week Sixteen _

 

This should be the easiest part of this whole “being a dad” thing—which is probably going to get very difficult very soon—and yet, Thor finds himself just as freaked out about it as he is about going under the knife for his c-section in a few months, and sending the little saplings to college in a few  _ years _ . 

 

Saplings. The name was Gamora’s idea, inadvertently; when they’d first met all those years ago, she’d noted that he was as thick and sturdy as an oak tree. Not in a creepy way, of course, but just as an astute observation. The comparison had stuck, and now, he feels like an oak tree with a giant hole in the middle, where three new little trees have begun to grow. 

 

They’re a little bigger than saplings now, and it shows. He definitely looks like he’s toting around three little avocado-sized human beings, but thankfully, no one has taken notice who wasn’t supposed to. Thor’s always had a mixed relationship with winter, always preferring the hot and humid summer, but he’s found that sweater weather is definitely his best friend right now; keeping the windows open has soothed his raging hot flashes, and baggy sweaters and hoodies are excellent for camouflaging his bump during his public excursions.

 

Thor tugs at the collar of his burgundy sweater as he stares at the kitchen table, hoping to make it look like he’s just toasty, as opposed to being driven out of his mind by nerves. “It’s warm in here, isn’t it?” he asks, talking to himself more than anyone else, “Are you two warm? It’s very warm. I think I should go open a window, it’s so warm!” He goes to stand, and Sif reaches out, clamping her hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Thor,” she begins, soft but firm, “It’s March, and you have all the windows open.” 

 

Heimdall touches his other shoulder, and the two of them gently coax him back into his chair. “It’s snowing,” he adds, “And it’s going to keep snowing for the rest of the week, so no, it’s isn’t warm in here.” 

 

Thor sighs and looks down at the empty plates sitting in front of the three of them on the table. He’s spent the whole morning stalling, trying to buy himself time so he can think about how to address the elephant in the room. 

 

“You’re right,” he confesses, “It’s not too warm in here. I’m just…” He makes a vague waving gesture. “You know.” 

 

Sif moves her hand from his shoulder and gives his jaw a little rub. “Nervous?”

 

“We know.” Heimdall sits back in his seat with a small smile, picking up his coffee. God, Thor misses coffee. He’d do anything just for an espresso shot, or a sip of one, or even just to  _ chew _ on one of the beans. He must have some look of distressed mourning on his face, because Heimdall puts the coffee down and pushes it behind the pot of succulents on the table to hide it. 

 

“You know you can tell us anything, don’t you?” Sif asks, scooting her chair closer to the table so she can hold Thor’s hands. She grins at him. “I know that you know, because literally all you’ve done for the past three and a half months is overshare. A lot. About  _ everything _ .”

 

Thor winces. Okay, maybe he’s been a little liberal with the details about what’s happening to his body. In his defense, it’s very exciting, and everyone always asks him how he’s doing! 

 

Heimdall leans over the table with one of those knowing smiles of his. Which is really his only smile because he knows everything, always, all the time. “You can ask us,” he promises. Of course he knows. “Not psychic” Thor’s  _ ass.  _

 

Sif furrows her eyebrows and looks at Thor with confusion. “Ask us what?” Thor grins so widely at her that he can barely feel his cheeks, which are  _ still  _ getting chubbier, which he’s got some mixed feelings about, but whatever. There’s a moment of delay, like her mind is a ticking kitchen timer, and then… “Oh my god!”  _ Ding!  _ She covers her mouth, eyes already a little shiny. “Really?!” 

 

Thor reaches across the table and takes both of their hands. Suddenly he’s five years old again, plopping down on the rug of his kindergarten classroom and introducing himself to the first two kids he sees and asking them to be his friends. Being with Heimdall and Sif is like being bread with peanut butter and jelly, or the sauce with the spaghetti and meatballs. His life would be a little flavorless without them. 

 

Wondering how to ask this question was hard. 

 

Actually asking it is easy. 

 

“Heimdall, Sif,” he begins, smiling when they both squeeze his hands, “You’ve been my best friends since we were five, and you’re the most loving, and nurturing people I know.” Thor feels his throat start to get a little tight. Uh-oh. He has to choose his next words wisely, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to start crying. “When I decided to have a child— _ children _ —there was no other option. I knew that it had to be the two of you.” 

 

“Oh my god,” Sif whispers in a teary rush. 

 

Thor has never asked anyone to marry him before, and he’s only really ever considered it once. But this feels like the more important proposal. A shaky little laugh flies out of him and his vision is even blurrier than usual because yep, damn it all, he’s crying. And there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s not embarrassing, or emasculating, or taboo. He’s always let his emotions guide his behavior, and that’s okay. He sniffles and presses his hands closer to theirs for support. “Will you be my children’s godparents?” 

 

There. He did it. That wasn’t so hard after all. 

 

He struggles to his feet mere moments before Sif launches herself into his arms, grabbing his face and kissing his cheeks. 

 

“Yes!” she all but shouts, standing on her tiptoes and hugging him tightly, “Of course I will, how could you even think that I’d say no?” 

 

Thor catches her in his arms and kisses the top of her head. “Thank you,” he mumbles over the lump in his throat. “Never doubted you.” Sniffling, he looks to Heimdall, whose eyes have gone warm and soft, and reaches out for him with his free hand. “Will you…?” 

 

Heimdall takes his hand and steps into the group hug. “I would be honored,” he promises. Everything he says has such a weight to it, like a sandbag filled with sincerity that he just…drops on your head in the kindest, most loving way. “You’re going to be an amazing father, and we’re going to spoil your kids to high heaven.” 

 

Thor takes a deep breath and leans into the two of them, feeling surrounded and supported at every side. He couldn’t ask for better friends, because better friends don’t exist. There’s this moment of blessed silence, where touch is all there is. Thor feels the love between the three of them inside and out. 

 

And then, he feels something new and a little bit weird. 

 

It’s a flutter, a flurry of movement in his gut; it’s less like his stomach is doing flips, and more like something  _ inside  _ of his stomach is doing flips and wiggling around. It’s definitely strange, but it’s a  _ good  _ kind of strange. The fact that he’s never felt anything like it in his entire life tells him  _ exactly  _ what it is. 

 

He steps back from the hug and sets a hand on his belly, trying to see if he can locate the movement, but it’s gone. 

 

“What is it?” Heimdall sets a steadying hand on Thor’s arm. He doesn’t ask what’s  _ wrong _ , because he probably know that there’s no problem. He can call it being  _ perceptive _ and having  _ observation skills  _ all he wants, but Thor’s still not entirely convinced that he’s not psychic. He’s been holding onto that hypothesis for twenty five years, and he’s not letting go of it yet. 

 

“Nothing,” Thor promises, his hand resting on his hip. He spoke too soon, however, because as soon as he starts to breathe, he feels it again! A little swarm of butterflies going wild inside of him! He laughs with surprise, gently resting his hand against the side of his bump. “I think the saplings are voicing their approval.” He knew that this was coming, but he never would’ve been able to predict how cool, and weird, and  _ crazy _ it feels. He gives himself a gentle poke, and the fluttering begins anew, making him laugh all the more. “Well, hello there! I was wondering when I’d hear from you.” Thor grabs his friends by the hands, dragging them both closer and laying their palms down on his stomach.

 

For the most part, he’s been okay with people getting touchy. Not many people have tried feeling him up, and those who have always ask. However, now that the saplings have started  _ moving _ , even though it’s just a little—since they’re still very small and probably didn’t have a lot of room in there to begin with—a lot more people are going to be a lot more interested. 

 

“That’s so weird!” Sif laughs, her palm lying flat over his navel, “Wow…What does it feel like? Does it feel weird?” 

 

Thor shrugs, grinning. His brain’s kind of short circuiting, and he’s forgetting most of his adjectives. He’s not sure how much good they would do him, anyway. This is  _ indescribable.  _ “It’s…” He wrinkles his nose as he thinks to himself. “It’s very weird, but it’s a good kind of weird. It just feels like I’m filled with butterflies.” 

 

Heimdall’s laughter is one of the warmest sounds Thor has ever heard. Everything about him is so toasty and welcoming, but also sturdy and strong. He’s like a warm drink on a winter’s afternoon. He smiles as he rubs his thumb thoughtfully over Thor’s skin through his shirt. “It’s amazing.” His voice is a low, comforting rumble. He’s going to be the best godfather to…well, to  _ godfather _ . “These are your children.” He doesn’t say it to point out the obvious, or to  _ remind _ Thor that he’s having children. 

 

He says it to set the fact in stone. These are his  _ children _ , and Thor is experiencing them in a new, more intimate way than ever. First, he couldn’t see, hear, or feel them, and they weren’t particularly aware of him. He knew that they were  _ there _ , because he had symptoms and because the test had told him so. Then, he could see them on a screen, nothing but blobs and blur, but there, in front of his eyes. He could see their little arms and legs, and he could see their heads even if their faces remained a mystery. Their little heartbeats are fast and strong, and he can listen to the recording of them whenever he wants. But still, there’s been a bit of distance between them. Now, he can actually  _ feel _ them—not through a screen or through a speaker, but with his own  _ body _ . 

 

It’s a new level of awareness, closeness, and intimacy with his children, and it reminds him that they’re more than a part of him. They’re more than a picture, or a video, or a lump under his shirt. They’re  _ people _ , living people who are inside of him  _ right now _ , their cells rapidly multiplying by the  _ billions  _ every second. And it’s a reminder that soon, they’re going to come  _ out of him _ , and he’s going to get to hold them in his arms, and see their faces, and hear their voices. And they’re never going to go away or stop needing him. 

 

It’s overwhelming, and Thor has to lean against his friends as he sits back down, his hands shaking only slightly as he rests them both on his belly. He takes a deep breath and lets it out. This is normal. Everything is normal. This is supposed to happen, and it’s going to  _ keep  _ happening. He tips his head back and grins widely at Sif and Heimdall as they stand behind him, their hands still on his broad shoulders. 

 

“Hi,” he greets.

 

Sif rubs a stray tear from his cheek. “Hi.” 

 

“Hello.” Heimdall gives Thor’s arm a reassuring rub. 

 

As cheesy as it sounds, so long as he has his friends beside him, Thor is going to get through this just fine. He’d get through it just fine either way, because he’s Thor and he’s amazing, but he’s definitely glad to have the extra support. 

 

…

_ Week Twenty  _

 

“You’re a monster,” Jane comments lightheartedly, biting down on her straw with a smile. “You’re killing that bear, look at him!” 

 

“Trust me, I can’t believe I’m doing this either, and if you ever tell  _ anyone  _ about it, I’ll never forgive you.” Thor gives the bear-shaped bottle of honey one last squeeze, his grip nearly squishing the bear’s plastic little face in. He sets the bottle down on the table and continues stirring his peanut butter milkshake. “God, this is gross.” A few months ago, the smell of peanut butter was enough to make Thor sick, and now, rather suddenly, his babies are  _ obsessed  _ with it. He craves it so frequently and so strongly that he’s started keeping a jar of it by his bed for easy access. 

 

Jane laughs and pushes her iced tea towards the other side of the table. “It’s not the weirdest thing anyone’s seen you eat lately,” she offers as consolation, and no, it doesn’t help. At  _ all _ . “Last time I came over, I watched you pack away  _ six _ raw bricks of instant ramen in one sitting.  _ Six _ , Thor.” 

 

“I was hungry!” he whines in his defense, taking the spoon out of the metal cup and shoving it in his mouth. “And anyway, six is a normal number. Two for each baby.” They’re bigger now, and so are their appetites. Each baby is roughly the size of a banana, and…oh, bananas sound good right now. Bananas sound  _ great _ right now. He should ask the waiter if they have any fresh bananas when he comes by again. 

 

Jane doesn’t bother to hide her smile, but she  _ does  _ try to hide the honey from Thor, sneaking it behind the dessert menu sitting on the table so he can’t strangle any more liquid gold from the skull of that little plastic bear. “Just  _ one _ of those is almost salty enough to give someone a kidney stone.” 

 

“That’s not true,” Thor replies, even though he knows that it’s very true, “And anyway, most of the sodium comes from the flavor packets, which I didn’t even  _ eat _ , so. There.” 

 

“ _ So there. _ ” Jane raises her eyebrow as she grabs her iced tea again. It’s not even  _ sweetened _ . How does she  _ live _ ? “That’s your big defense? Okay…” 

 

Thor gives her shin a light nudge from under the table. “You should be nicer to me, Professor Foster,” he teases, “First you dump me”—

 

“That was  _ six years ago! _ ” 

 

“First you dump me, and now you kick me while I’m down—and trying to bring three  _ children  _ into the world, no less!” Thor takes a sip of his  _ delicious  _ peanut butter, chocolate, and honey milkshake, grinning when Jane wads up her napkin and throws it at him. He wonders if after he has these babies his taste will go back to normal, or if he’s going to be eating avocado with peanut butter and Sriracha for the rest of his life. 

 

Jane reaches across the table and snatches her napkin back, laying it down on her lap like the distinguished academic professional that she has to act like in public. “Darcy told me about the Pop-Tart incident, by the way.” She watches for his reaction as she pokes at the lemon wedge in her tea with her straw. 

 

Thor scowls playfully. “Traitor. She promised she wouldn’t tell.” Having your ex-turned-close-friend’s teaching assistant catch you eating an entire box of unfrosted Pop-Tarts—objectively the worst kind—and crying in your office over a Huffpost article about a goat with anxiety who has to wear onesies to calm down builds character. Thor can appreciate that. But still, it wasn’t his proudest moment.

 

“Buy her Starbucks, and that girl will tell you anything,” Jane replies with a smug, barely-there smile. Their waiter comes by with the food, and Jane moves her iced tea to the side and lifts up her purse to make room. She’d ordered a perfectly normal adult meal—a salad with grilled chicken and an assortment of fresh berries. It looks good, and Thor is sure that if he could choose his food himself instead of being at the beck and call of three hungry babies, he would’ve ordered the same thing. 

 

However, seeing as his children have been ruling his stomach with an iron fist, he has no choice but to roll with what they ask for. If he disobeys their wishes, they retaliate by giving him heartburn or nausea—and sometimes, on those  _ blessed  _ occasions where he feels so  _ lucky _ to be a  _ father _ , they give him both. He can’t remember the last time he ate something  _ normal _ . Instead, he just lays awake at night, fantasizing about Buddy the Elf’s famous spaghetti with maple syrup. 

 

Therefore, he’s delighted when the waiter sets down his grilled cheese, complete with a pile of crinkle-cut pickles and a little cup of applesauce. Immediately, he lifts the bread on the sandwich and begins stuffing the pickles inside with the cheese. He’s never tried it like this, but even if it’s disgusting, he  _ wants  _ it, and he’s going to eat the whole thing. He glances at the applesauce, with the little sprinkle of cinnamon on it, and gets an idea. 

 

“Thor,” Jane warns, placing her purse in front of the honey bottle with a grin, “Thor, no.” 

 

“Jane.” He’s trying his best to be serious, but the whole situation is so ridiculous that it’s  _ very  _ difficult to keep a straight face. “Give me the honey.” 

 

“You’ve had too much already!” she protests, blocking her purse with his arm as he makes a grab for it. “It’s not good for you!” She laughs, but refuses to give in, even when when Thor whips out his secret weapon. “Your puppy eyes won’t work on me, Thor Odinson.” However, he can see her starting to give. “It didn’t work six years ago, and it won’t work on me now.” 

 

Thor reaches behind his head and tightens the hair elastic around his bun. That tells Jane that he means  _ business _ . “If you don’t give me that honey, the consequences will be dire, Professor Foster.” 

 

“Oh yeah?” She snatches the honey bottle and whirls around, politely setting it on the table behind them. “For your tea,” she tells the elderly couple sitting and enjoying their turkey sandwiches, “Have a lovely day.” She crosses her arms and smiles smugly as she gets comfortable in the booth again. “There.” 

 

Thor gasps, offended. “I’m going to report you to your department head,” he sulks, stirring his milkshake sullenly, “I’m going to fill out a formal complaint and everything.” 

 

“I’m sure Selvig will understand, that keeping you from putting yourself in a honey coma is a worthy cause.” She begins poking at her salad, smiling down at her plate. Her smile quickly fades, however, when Thor reaches across the table and swipe a crouton. “Hey!” 

 

“Not my fault,” he replies quickly, gesturing to his midsection. “It was the babies, not me! I’m merely a slave to their whims.” Now that winter has come and gone, it’s becoming harder to hide his bump under baggy sweaters. He’s found that that triple XL t-shirts, and lots of layers, make him look a little more “beer belly” and a little less “beached whale”. 

 

“Those babies”—Jane points her fork at his tummy—“Are little  _ crouton thieves _ .” 

 

“Thieves!” he gasps out in disbelief, stirring the cinnamon into the applesauce. It really  _ would  _ taste better with more honey…“How dare you insult my children in this way!” 

 

“They’re crouton thieves! I’m not afraid to say it!” Jane pulls her plate closer to her when Thor makes a playful attempt to steal from her again. They both know that she will remember this betrayal for years to come. “I don’t care if they’re the size of grapefruits!”

 

“Bananas,” Thor supplies, “And I’m afraid their reign of terror won’t end until they’re at least eighteen, so keep your croutons under lock and key.” 

 

Jane smiles fondly, but her smile quickly becomes a grimace of disgust as Thor lifts the first half of his sandwich and dunks it into his milkshake. 

 

…

_ Week Twenty-Five  _

 

Okay, so the first few times the babies kicked, it was exciting and cute. And it continued to be exciting and cute for a good few months after that. But now, the saplings have upgraded to twigs, and now have enough horsepower to kick his spine out. Worse yet, they do it  _ all the time _ , whacking at Thor’s organs and whacking at each other, keeping him up all night because they’d rather do  _ Womba  _ (like Zumba, but in the womb. Thor thought the play on words was rather delightful, but now he’s just as sick of it as he is of having his kidneys kicked around.) than sleep. 

 

“You okay?” Sam asks with baited breath, watching as Thor winces and twists to each side, trying to untangle his guts. “They’re really giving you a hard time, huh?” 

 

“It’s not… _ horrible _ .” The strain in Thor’s voice betrays him, and he knows it. The pain subsides and he sighs, leaning back against the foot of the sofa. “It just kind of takes one by surprise, you know? But I’m fine.” He picks up the booklet of building instructions and flips through it until he finds the right page. “It looks like we need to connect part F to part H.” 

 

“H…?” Bucky calls from under the rocking chair. He slides out, wrench in hand. “Why  _ H _ ? What the hell happened to G?” 

 

Sam points to the first arm of the chair. “I think that was G,” he offers, pouting thoughtfully as he searches for the next part they need. It’s another one of those little rods, but there’s nothing in the instructions that indicates what it  _ does _ . It’s sort of like the spleen: nobody knows what it’s for, but everyone knows that you need it. 

 

Speaking of spleen…ugh. One of the babies delivers a hard kick to Thor’s back and he coughs in surprise, bringing a hand to his spine and rubbing it gently. 

 

“Bet’cha can’t wait to be done, huh?” Bucky asks as he crawls over to the pile of alphabetized parts. Sam offers him part H, and Bucky gives him a kiss on the cheek as payment. He turns to look at Thor and frowns. “Jesus, you look like you haven’t slept in days.” 

 

“There’s really not much I can do about it,” Thor replies honestly as he grabs a pillow from the couch and wedges it behind his back, “So it’s fine.” He pushes himself up and begins sifting through the parts for the next one they’ll need. He passes it to Bucky and gives his shoulder a comforting pat as he does so. “How has your cousin been doing? Still in treatment?” 

 

Bucky doesn’t talk much about his family—not because he doesn’t like his family, but because there’s so many people in it that giving a simple update could take hours, and he doesn’t like talking enough to get into it. Thor doesn’t even know his cousin’s name, only that he’s sick, and has been doing chemo, and that Bucky loves him like a brother. He gives a shrug and a little smile. “Yeah, we don’t know when he’ll be done,” he explains as he scoots back over to the rocking chair and sticks his head underneath it so he can continue working, “But it looks like it’s gonna be an easy fix. Couple of more weeks at most. I gotta go pick him up today at like, three-ish and bring him back home.”  

 

There’s no such thing an easy fix when it comes to illnesses. They all know it, but nobody says it. It wouldn’t serve any purpose to say it, so it remains universal but unspoken. 

 

“You’re a good man,” Thor tells him, breaking the awkward silence that’s fallen over the three them, “And a good cousin. I’m sure he’s glad to have you looking after him.” 

 

Bucky snorts out a humorless laugh as he attaches part G to part H, and then screws them together with part I. “Thanks, Thor, but I don’t know if he’d agree. Keeps insisting that he can take care of himself, and that I don’t gotta fuss over him, stubborn little shit.” 

 

Sam reaches over and gives Bucky’s knee a comforting squeeze. “He should know by now that you’re always gonna fuss over everyone—it’s how you are.” 

 

“Are we talking about Bucky fussing over everyone again?” Steve asks from the hallway as he descends the staircase, wiping the paint from his hands with a rag. 

 

Bucky shimmies out from under the chair and sends Steve a mild glare. “You’re one to talk,” he reminds him, “You won’t even let Thor up to see his own kids’ fuckin’ nursery because of the paint fumes!” 

 

“Fumes are dangerous, especially for the babies.” Steve heads into the living room, making sure that his hands are paint-free before sitting down next to Thor on the rug. He claps a hand onto his shoulder. “How’re you feeling, man?” he asks, grabbing the water bottle from the coffee table and handing it over, “Heat gettin’ to you at all? I opened the windows upstairs, so the room could air out and the paint would dry faster.” 

 

Thor smiles and sets his hand over Steve’s. “I’m fine, Steve, I promise.”

 

Sam and Bucky send him a chastising look and call him a liar in perfect unison. 

 

As the paint dries upstairs, the four of them make small talk and continue constructing the rocking chair. It really is a four person project, but it takes longer because none of them will allow Thor to help. He just has to sit there and watch, sorting through the parts and reading over the instructions. 

 

Sam, Steve, and Bucky fit together like parts of one shiny, state of the art love machine. They’re always in perfect sync, reading each other’s minds and finishing sentences. Since calling them “Sam, Steve, and Bucky” is a mouthful, they’ve become lumped together as a unit under one name: SSB. They each have their strengths, and fill in the gaps left by skills that the other two are missing. Steve excels at the creative parts of a project, whereas Bucky is a talented builder, but the two of them would be completely useless without Sam’s knack for planning and thinking ahead. 

 

Thor keeps insisting that he can help, but his offers fall on deaf ears. He’s reaching the point in the process where everyone’s trying to do things for him, and telling him to sit down and take it easy. And while he appreciates it, there’s things that he can  _ do _ , and he’s reaching a place of desperation where he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t do  _ something _ . The weeks went from flying by to dragging on in slow motion, and the summer heat has  _ not  _ been helping. He feels sweaty, and achy, and gross, and not at all glamorous or sexy like the magazines said he would. He doesn’t feel like a  _ fertility goddess _ , living his truth and eating/praying/loving all over the place. He can’t sleep, and he can’t shit, and he can’t even sit at his desk without his belly knocking things all over the place. Sure, it has its good moments, and there are more good moments than there are bad moments, but for the most part he’s just  _ impatient _ . It’s been fun, but he’s tired of waiting to meet his children. 

 

He wants to see them  _ now _ , and hold them  _ now _ , and kiss them  _ now _ , and be able to do something with his nervous energy besides nesting and re-organizing his and everyone else’s Tupperware drawers. There’s nothing for him to do besides sit by the AC unit or in front of the open refrigerator, drink enough water to drain a fourth of the ocean, and fold (and then  _ refold _ ) baby clothes. 

 

It’s starting to wear on him, and everyone can tell. His friends’ solution? Smother him with so much social contact that he never has a chance to even  _ think  _ about being bored, tired, or sweaty.

 

Somewhere along the way,the boredness, tiredness, and sweaty-ness gets the better of him, and  Thor falls asleep with his glasses sliding off his nose, directions in his hand. 

 

He wakes when the sky is all but golden and finds a note on the bedside table: 

 

_ You fell asleep, so we took the chair up for you. Hope you like it.  _

 

_ -SSB  _


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, friends!!! ♡ thank you so much for tuning into the previous chapter, and for being so patient!! i was overwhelmed & filled with love after reading everyone's comments! thank you so much to those of you who took the time to add kudos and/or comments. for the first time in a long time, i'm having fun writing a fic because you guys have been so wonderful!! 
> 
> to answer the question on everyone's lips....YES. bruce is coming. he's going to arrive in chapter six! 
> 
> this chapter is kind of a goofy filler, just because i have such a big cast that i'm working with, so i wanted to make sure that i spent equal time on new characters!! 
> 
> as always, please let me know what you think, and what you'd like to see! ♡

_ Week Thirty  _

 

Complaining and tiredness aside, there’s a lot of really great things about growing three human begins from scratch inside of your body. For every negative Thor finds himself whining about, he tries to remind himself of a positive. Sure, the kicking keeps him up at night and knocks the wind out of him, but his children are  _ moving _ , and that means that everything is in working order. His stomach might itch like crazy from his skin stretching, but that just means that the saplings are a healthy size. Backaches and sciatica become the promise of piggyback rides, and all of it reminds him that in just a few weeks, all of it will be over. 

 

Six weeks, three days, and give or take six hours from now and he’ll be sliced open by a reliable surgeon that came at Stark’s recommendation (“Trust me, buddy, this guy’s the best in the business. Yeah, I know he’s a brain surgeon, but that just means he works great under pressure.”), and after some awkward gut-scrambling, he’ll have his babies.

 

“Can't you control that? It's disgusting.” 

 

Thor follows his brother’s disgusted expression all the way down to his own stomach, smiling when he sees the outline of a tiny hand pushing against his skin. “Isn’t it cool?” he asks, placing his hand over his belly and giving it a pat to soothe the kicking, “It’s like they’re giving me a high five.” 

 

Loki stares blankly at Thor and sips his mimosa. “If by  _ cool  _ you mean  _ completely and utterly revolting _ , then yes, it’s very  _ cool _ .” 

 

“MR. THOR!”

 

“I think there’s a very small human trying to get your attention.” Loki points over Thor’s shoulder. He doesn’t like kids. Everyone knows that. He says that they’re loud, and annoying, and always sticky for some reason. But Thor knows that with his kids, it’ll be different. Loki is going to love these kids whether he likes it or not.

 

Thor spins around, forgetting that his center of gravity has changed and stumbling a little as a wild first grader runs his way. He struggles to kneel down, but manages just in time to catch her in his arms. “Hello there! Who’s this?” 

 

The little girl smiles at him widely. She’s missing both of her front teeth, and it’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “You know me!” she giggles, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

 

“Surely, I do not, little one!” Of course he does. He’d know that little smile anywhere. He pulls back from the hug and takes a look at her. “Hmm…” Bringing his fist to his chin and tilting his head side to side, he pretends to consider his options. “I’m sorry, peanut,” he replies after some “deliberation”, putting his hands on his hips, "I just don't know."

 

“Yes you do! You called me peanut!” She steps forward and grabs at his face so she can lean in as close as she can, as if that will make him recognize her. “It’s me! Cassie!” 

 

Thor laughs and pulls her in for a bear hug. “Cassie Lang! How could I have ever forgotten?!” He takes in the sight of her, little pink tutu and all, and touches her cheek. “My god, you’ve gotten big!” 

 

Cassie smiles and pokes his tummy. “So have you!” 

 

“Aw, come on, Cassie, you know that’s not polite to say.” Scott jogs over to them, gift bag in hand. He offers Thor a hand to help him up. “She’s right, though.” 

 

Thor rolls his eyes and pulls his friend in for as tight a hug as he can muster with three babies squished in between them. “Shut up,” he mumbles, clapping Scott on the back as he pulls away, “I can’t believe you came all the way out here from San Francisco just to see me!” 

 

Scott grins and points to Thor’s belly. “Actually, we’re here to see those.” 

 

Thor laughs and they chat for a while and catch up. Scott’s new job at PymTech is going well but he’s not sure if anyone actually likes him, and Cassie just finished selling her first ever batch of Girl Scout cookies. Thor wonders fondly if any of his kids will be Girl or Boy Scouts; he doesn't know the sexes, but he still can’t help but be curious. Maybe he’ll have two Girl Scouts and a Boy Scout, or maybe the opposite—or three Girl Scouts and three Boy Scouts. Or maybe, they’ll each decide that scouting isn’t quite their thing, and that will be okay too. 

 

Scott’s halfway through telling him about his ex wife’s  _ very  _ handsome new asshat of a boyfriend when Thor feels a sudden hand on his upper back.

 

“I’m afraid we have to slip out a bit early,” T’Challa explains, his free arm linked with Nakia’s, “We have urgent matters to attend to back home.” 

 

Thor tries to cover up his disappointment with concern. He hardly ever sees them during the summer months; they teach at the university with him during the academic year, but then as soon as finals have come and gone, it’s back to the other side of the globe. The work that T’Challa and Nakia do in Wakanda is far more important than the work they do here--Thor isn’t bitter about it. Why would he be? He’s proud of his friends, and all the amazing things they do. “Of course.” He gives an understanding smile as he squeezes T’Challa’s hand. “Thank you for coming. Is everything all right?” 

 

T’Challa’s smile is as bright and dashing as ever. “Everything is fine. It is my sister’s birthday tomorrow, and she will have my head if we miss it.” 

 

“But you’ll have to send us pictures,” Nakia adds, giving Thor a hug and a kiss on the cheek, “And when we come back, you’d best believe that we’re going to spoil them rotten.” 

 

“Hopefully not too much,” Thor replies, leaning into the kiss with a grin, “I can’t have any of you spoiling them more than me!” 

 

His children are going to grow up surrounded by love. It’ll enfold around them in layers, but the first layer, the one closest to them, will always be the love that radiates from his own heart. They must be able to feel how much he cares, and they can hear it in his voice, but when they meet him, they will see it too. He’ll never give them a chance to even  _ consider _ doubting how much he adores them. He doesn’t want to smother them,  of course, and he’ll definitely have to balance it out, but...they’ll never have to worry about having a second parent, because he’ll give them the love of two parents combined. 

 

As he makes his way around the party--well, as people make their way to him--slipping in and out of conversations, his mind is occupied by how thrilling and delighting this whole thing has been. 

 

“Hello?” Stark waves his hand in front of Thor’s face, holding a mimosa in the other. “Am I boring you, Point Break?” 

 

For the past few weeks, every single conversation that  _ isn’t  _ about the saplings has been boring to be perfectly honest, but Thor just shakes his head with a weary smile. He sets his hands on his lower back, cushioning his tailbone as he stretches. “Ah, of course not.” He winces a little as someone delivers a swift kick to his kidneys and holds his breath as he waits for it to pass. Tony and Pepper both rush forward to grab his arms as he wobbles forward, and he holds up a hand as he catches his breath. “Sorry.” 

 

“Let me guess.” Tony steps back once he determines that Thor is good to stand, and smooths out his pricy suit. He likes reminding everyone in the room that he can afford nice things, flaunting his wealth with expensive cars and clothes. However, anyone who knows him knows that he’s at his most comfortable behind closed doors in a pair of worn sweatpants and a dirty AC/DC t-shirt. He raises his fists jokingly. “Baby MMA match? Who’s winning?” 

 

Pepper nudges him and smiles into her iced coffee with exasperation. “Tony…” 

 

“Is it Baby B?” he continues, “You know, I’ve heard that in cases of multiples, there’s always like, an alpha twin--or triplet, in this case. I’m putting my money on B.” Stark turns to the rest of the party and raises a hand. “Guys, quick consensus: who’s the alpha triplet? None of you are allowed to bet on B so I don’t have to split the prize money with anybody.” 

 

From the grill, Bucky cups his hands over his mouth and yells “Shut up!” 

 

“Anyway…” Pepper rolls her eyes and then smiles at Thor. “If there’s anything you need from us, we’re more than happy to help--like helping you to set up college funds, or covering costs from buying three of everything, or”--

 

“Or investing some stocks in Stark Industries in their names,” Tony adds, “Or maybe an unpaid internship when they’re old enough.” He grins widely. “And boxing lessons for Baby B.” 

 

Thor finds a lawn chair and very carefully eases himself into it. Even the smallest tasks, like sitting down, or trying to reach his phone on the bedside table, are monumentally difficult. “I appreciate the offer, but trust me.” He pulls down his shirt and adjusts his legs, trying to find the right posture for his back. “They’re getting all the boxing lessons they need right now.” 

 

The recent discomfort certainly isn’t ideal, but at no point did he ever expect anything about this to be comfortable. Thor takes comfort in knowing that it’s almost over, even if it isn’t ending the way he’d originally intended. 

 

Then again, nobody really does this with the intention of being sliced open, do they? 

 

He quickly realizes that no matter what he does, his back is going to give him trouble, so he settles for leaning back. “Plus, if your company fails,” he continues with a smile, getting a little satisfaction out of the way the color drains from Tony’s face, “I don’t want my kids to be in debt before they can even walk.” 

 

After a pause, Stark laughs. “You know, you love pretending that you’re not as conniving as your siblings and playing the angel card.” He jokingly holds two fingers to his eyes and points them to Thor. “I’m watching you.” 

 

“Congratulations again, Thor.” Pepper steps forward to shake his hand, and then gently touches his arm. She’s always just a touch too formal, like she’s always in business mode, even with friends. Maybe she’s just a professional person; Thor can’t relate, because as soon as he’s off campus, his personality does a complete 180 and he’s ready to have fun again. Not that he doesn’t have fun at work, he does, it’s just--

 

Speaking of work, the telltale sound of wheels dragging through the grass grabs Thor’s attention, and he turns to see his boss struggling to push his husband’s wheelchair across the yard. 

 

Thor gives Pepper’s hand a squeeze, and then not-so-subtly uses it as an anchor to lift himself up. He grabs onto Stark’s arm for added support, stumbling a little bit once he gets back to his feet. “Thank you.” He straightens himself out and sighs with relief. Walking might be a colossal pain in the ass, but standing feels a lot better than cramming himself into a tiny chair. “And thank you for coming!” He wraps an arm around each of their shoulders and hugs them to the best of his ability. “I’ll probably see you again before the saplings come, but if I don’t, I’ll be sure to send you plenty of pictures.” 

 

Tony gives his back an awkward pat. “Don’t worry about it, big guy. You’ve got enough to deal with right now.” 

 

“But stay in touch,” Pepper adds, “And we’ll talk about getting college stuff set up for you through our guy.” 

 

Being disgustingly rich must be nice. There’s a “guy” for everything. However, Thor believes that the accumulation and hoarding of millions of dollars is unethical, and is perfectly content with his comfortable financial situation. Sure, things have been a little tight with the babies and everything, but he’s still going to be able to spoil them.

 

Thor steps back, making sure each movement is well-planned and calculated so he doesn’t knock anything over. He can’t even work at his desk anymore because he keeps bumping into things, or positioning his torso the wrong way and clearing off all his papers by mistake. Now, he has to do all his work at the kitchen table, and when that fails, the  _ floor _ . Thankfully, the summer semester has come to an end and he doesn’t have to worry about anything except making sure the  seventy year old head of his department doesn’t break something in his attempt to get his husband across the lawn. 

“Excuse me, I have to go rescue my boss.” He gives Pepper and Stark one more smile before carefully turning around. It’s less of a turn, and more like a slow, circular waddle. He takes off as fast as he can, which isn’t very fast, towards the old men and the wheelchair. “Professors! I’m on my way over!” 

 

By the time he gets there, Professor Lehnsherr and Professor Xavier already look bored, which he supposes happens when you’re old. Thor wonders if someday, he’ll have someone to grow old with. Not that he  _ needs _ someone, or that his life is lacking without it. He has all the love he could ever need right here. 

 

Still...it wouldn’t be awful to have a partner.  

 

Professor Xavier takes Thor’s hand and sandwiches it between his own. “I apologize for the state of your lawn,” he promises, glancing down at his wheels, “I do hope Erik didn’t leave any permanent damage from dragging me through the grass.” 

 

“Of course, blame me.” Professor Lehnsherr rolls his eyes fondly and sets a hand on his husband’s shoulder. Most people wouldn’t even get a handshake from him--it’s like he only has enough room in his body for so much affection, and he saves all of it for his husband. “How was the summer session, Thor?” 

 

Thor feels a little winded from his sprint and takes a breath, his hand finding his back as he straightens out. As much as he’s loved this experience, he’s looking forward to being able to get from one place to another without feeling out of breath. He adjusts his glasses and nods. “Yes.” Lehnsherr’s eyebrow arches. Thor quickly backtracks. “I mean, it went great!  _ Heroes and Heroines _ was fantastic. As and Bs all around. Though  _ Love Rituals in Ancient Greece  _ got a little shaky towards the end, and I thought I’d made the final exam too difficult, but everyone pulled through.” 

 

He, on the other hand, had barely survived trying to balance being pregnant with teaching two classes. Between the constant doctor’s appointments, and the grading, and preparing his life for three new additions all by himself...it had been a lot, and he’d spent many nights fast asleep on the floor, resting against the back of the couch, textbooks and papers spread out all around him. He feels a little pathetic about it, but he’s not going to  _ say  _ it. 

 

He doesn’t have to. 

 

“You’ve done a good job.” Hearing it throws Thor for a loop. Dr. Lehnsherr hardly ever compliments anyone. It’s not because he’s a mean, or rude guy. He’s not. A little distant, perhaps, and maybe a little too honest, but he’s always very polite, and usually civil unless you get under his skin. He’s simply very hard to please, and saves his compliments until he’s really “in the presence of true excellence”. The fact that he’s earned his praise gives Thor such an ego boost that he forgets how overwhelmed and exhausted he’d felt while trying to make these classes work. 

 

“Thank you, Professor, I-- _ ow _ .” Thor winces as a little arm or leg whacks him in the lower back again. Grimacing, he rubs the area for a second before his hand comes back around to rest on his tummy. “Sorry about that. I think it’s the…” Another little shift inside him makes him smile. “I think the cupcakes might’ve given them a little sugar rush.” Anything that has even the slightest amount of sugar gets the saplings going. Iced tea, fruit, popsicles, you name it. It’s not their fault; their bodies are very small, and sugar is very new to them. Plus, it’s delicious, so he can’t blame them for dancing about. 

 

Dr. Xavier, bless him, reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Thor’s arm. “When our daughter was expecting her twins, she frequently complained that they were always going for her kidneys.” 

 

“Yes!” Thor laughs out, shaking his head, “That’s  _ exactly  _ what it is!” 

 

The discussion carries on pleasantly, the topic shifting to next semester’s courses, and Thor’s impending family leave: one semester off, another semester online, and then back on campus next fall. 

 

After a while, he feels himself growing hungry again, and politely excuses himself to go raid the buffet table on the porch. There, he finds Erik Selvig, the head of the university’s physics department, reaching for the same sesame bagel as him. 

 

Selvig steps aside. “Please, by all means.” He gestures to the bagel. “You’re the one eating for three--well, four.” 

 

Thor picks up the first half, and then passes the second to Selvig. “It’s never too early to teach them how to share,” he replies, digging into the near-empty container of whipped butter with a knife and salvaging what he can to put on the bagel. Brunch was a great idea for a variety of reasons, the first of which being that breakfast food is the best. The second reason, which is just as important, is that having the party earlier won’t interfere with Thor’s afternoon nap. Stifling a yawn already, he tells himself that soon he’ll be able to O.D. on coffee again. 

 

“So, three of them all by yourself, eh?” Selvig asks as he spreads cream cheese onto his half of the bagel, “Won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” 

 

Although Thor’s confidence has been pretty unbreakable for the most part, he’s reaching the point where he’s been starting to get pretty insecure about the whole thing. What if he  _ can’t  _ actually do it, and he’s been playing himself this entire time? 

 

Selvig must see the way he pales a little, and bumps his shoulder. “If your very, very long list of potential babysitters runs out, you can always drop them by my office.” 

 

Thor looks out at the party and remembers that he’s  _ not  _ doing this by himself. There’s at least fifty people here, each one of them just as excited about this as he is. He’ll never even have to ask for help if it becomes to much, because everyone will probably trample each other as they race to come to his aid. But still, he’d like to be as self sufficient as he can. 

 

He turns back to Selvig with a smile. “Thank you. “You’re at the top of my list, actually.” He’s one of the most honest and trustworthy people Thor knows, and he knows a lot of honest and trustworthy people. Sure, he can’t hold his liquor worth a damn, but he’s funny and clever, and always knows when it’s time to drag Thor away from his work and to the bar. 

 

A comfortable breath passes between them.

 

“Three kids,” Selvig says with a low whistle, “And you don’t know who the other dad is?” 

 

Thor grins. “Nope. Totally anonymous. I know their medical history, and what they might look like, and that’s...that’s it, really.” The other parent’s identity is a mystery that he’d love to solve, but he knows that he can’t go digging around. They wanted to remain anonymous, and Thor should respect their wishes by not snooping for information. Plus, he hasn’t had the time! 

 

“Do you think they’ll ever want to know?” Erik continues, “If they ask, what will you say?” 

 

It’s a question that constantly sits at the forefront of his mind. How will he explain to his kids why they only have one parent? Will it be difficult for them to understand what it means to be trans? Will they resent him for being a single parent? By the time they’re old enough to ask,  _ will  _ he still be a single parent? If he thinks about it too much, his heart starts to hurt. 

 

“I think,” he replies after a moment of thought, “I think I should just be honest with them and say that I don’t know.” He’s always thought that kids should learn about reproduction and the like as soon as they’re old enough to ask, which is usually around the age of four or five. It might seem a little weird to Americans, who like to save the explanation until it’s nearly too late, but he thinks that if he explains it to them right away, it won’t be a taboo. If he trusts them with that information at a young age, they’ll trust him when they’re older and start asking more explicit questions. 

 

Selvig takes a sip of his coffee. “What if they find him?” he asks with a wry smile, “Or-- _ or  _ they narrow it down to three potential donors and then they invite all three to some important family event to figure out which one is their dad?” 

 

“Why does this sound like something that’s happened to you?” Thor grins and shoves his entire bagel in his mouth. 

 

Thor continues weaving through the crowd, spending a good ten to fifteen minutes with each clique. Finally, after a good two hours of chatting and munching down on bagels, the party starts to die down. People start trickling out, leaving with hugs, handshakes, and a few kisses on the cheek. 

 

Once everyone’s gone, Thor collapses onto the couch, his siblings on either side of him. Loki and Hela both put their feet up on the coffee table, but he doesn’t have the energy to tell them not to. They’re never going to change, and he not only accepts it, but embraces it. He pulls his shirt down over his belly and rests his hands there, taking a big breath and relaxing back into the cushions as he lets it out. 

 

“Tired?” Loki asks, his shoulder shifting against Thor’s as he scrolls through his phone. Talking to his “boyfriend” no doubt, who “tragically” couldn’t make it to the party because of “business stuff”. But he did send Loki with some nice gifts, so Thor can’t complain. 

 

Eyes slipping shut, Thor nods. “Mmhm.” 

 

Hela’s hands are cold as she removes Thor’s glasses and rests her palm over his forehead. “If you’re tired, imagine how we must feel, having to entertain your aggressively pleasant friends.” 

 

Loki scoffs, the clicking of his manicured nails against his phone screen coming to a halt. “ _You_ spent the entire party scowling in the corner.  _ I’m  _ the one who had to entertain Thor’s army of idiots.” 

 

“At least I have friends,” Thor mumbles with a tired smile. He feels his sister’s hand as it ventures into his long hair. There’s a tug, and his ponytail falls loose. Hela’s hand softly brushes against his scalp, searching for tangles. He’s going to miss being spoiled by his siblings. Like she read his mind, Hela pulls on his hair a little. “Ow…!” Thor wrinkles his nose. “You should be nicer to me, you know.”

 

“I  _ am  _ being nice.” Hela’s hand moves from his hair and he feels her adjust her position next to him. “I’m the very  _ image  _ of niceness.” 

 

“No you’re not,” Thor and Loki reply in unison. 

 

The three of them have a quiet laugh at that, because as funny as it is, their energy is all but gone. Thor opens his eyes and the world is a colorful blur, so he closes them again. He shimmies into a comfortable position. 

 

“I love you two idiots.” 

 

The words shake Thor a little, because he  _ never  _ hears them anymore. Loki says them very rarely, and he’s not sure if Hela’s  _ ever  _ spoken those words to either of them. And neither of them have said it since Mum and Dad died. So hearing her say them now, as she brushes her hand through his hair again, makes his heart shudder. His throat clenches up, and his eyes burn. She pulls her hand away. 

 

“My god, don’t tell me you’re going to  _ cry _ , you big moron.” 

 

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Thor whines, scrunching up his face. If he opens his eyes, it’ll get worse. His throat squeezes around his breath again and he covers his face.

 

Loki leans over and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You always wear your heart on your sleeve, don’t you?” he asks softly, leaning against him. “I love you two idiots too. And those three baby not-idiots, because I’m too good of an uncle to let your kids be as stupid as you.” 

 

"I love you guys." Thor snuggles up to his siblings and rests his head on Loki’s shoulder. He wipes a stray tear from his cheek with a sniffle. “But can’t you two just say  _ I love you _ and leave it at that?”

 

Hela wraps an arm around him. “Nope.” 

 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

**Author's Note:**

> and that's chapter 1! chapter 2 is also done, but i'm going to wait until i'm further into chapter 3 to post it! 
> 
> for those of you who've never seen 13 going on 30, here's the razzles scene! i promise it's important, because it gives a little bit of a hint at who thor's donor lookalike is ;) 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciaoL4JUHKM


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